1SITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE   LJBRAPY 

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3  121001817  2476 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


<3n  Ole    Yizc/inia 


" '  Now,   Sam^   from    dis    lime  yon    belong  to  yo1   young   Mars* 

Chan n in'  ' 


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New  York 
Charles  Scribnerls  Sons 


£       O 


Copyright,  1887,  1892,  1896.  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTINO  AND  BOOK  BINDING  COMPAXT 
HEW  YORK 


People 

i6  fragmentary  record,  of  tfieit 
life  16  dedicated 


(oontervtA 


(§kan  : 


Page 

ale  of  Old  ^i-iginia,      ,         1 
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dt  of  Sliu6tzation6 


" '  Now,  Sam,  from  dis  time  you  belong  to  yo'  young 

Marse  Channin,'" Frontispiece 

Facing 

41 ' /  mek  you  a  present  to  yo'  famly,  seh !  '        .     .  26 

"  De  moon  come  out,  an*  I  cotch  sight  on  her  stanin 

dyah  in  her  white  dress" 34. 

"Miss  Anne  she  hed  done  tu'n  away  her  Jiaid"     .  38 

11 1  see  Marse  Chan  read  dat  letter  over  an   over"  44 

"  /  seen  he  eye  light  on  her  as  she  came  down  the 

steps  smilin" 58 

"  We  come  *way  next  mornin'" 68 

" Marse  George  lead  her  out  on  de  porch"     ...  72 

"Hit  begin  so  low  ev'ybody  had  to  stop  talkin'"    .  88 


x  List  of  Illustrations 

Facing 
page 

11  Miss  Charlotte  she  'mos'  'stracted" 92 

"  She    talk    mighty   sorf    but    mighty    'terminated 

like," no 

" '  We  claim  no  kinsmen  among  Virginia's  enemies} 

says  Meh  Lady'' 118 

"  Oh  !   she  sut'n'y  did  pomper  him,  readin'  to  him 

out  0'  books,  an'  settin    by  him  on  de  poch"   .     124. 

"An'  he  ivuz  holdin'  her  hand,  talkin'  right  study"     132 

"  An'  sometimes  I'd  bring  de  mule  for  her  to  ride 

home  ef  she  been  up  de  night  befo'  wid  Mistis"     144. 

In  mild  weather  lie  occupied  a  bench  outside,      .     .     184 

" Nem  mine"  he  said,  " /  comin'  right  down  in  de 

summer  to  buy  you  back" 192 

The  gigantic  monster  dragged  the  hacked  and  head- 
less corpse  of  his  victim  up  the  staircase,    .     .     206 

A  man  in  it,  standing  upright,  and  something  lying 

in  a  lump  at  the  bow, 222 

"  Drinkwater  Torm  fell  sprawling  on  the  floor"    .     228 
"'f  will!'  he  said,  throwing  up  his  head"  .     .     .     248 


List  of  Illustrations  xi 

facing 
fage 

"  There  he  was  standing  on  the  bridge  just  before 

her?     .     .     . 256 

"  The  young  man  found  it  necessary  to  lean  over 

and  throw  a  steadying  arm  around  her"    .     .    262 

"  He  made  Torm,  Charity,  and  a  half-dozen  younger 

house-servants  dress  him" 266 


MARSE    CHAN 


MARSE   CHAN 

A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia 

ONE  afternoon,  in  the  autumn  of  1872,  I  was 
riding  leisurely  down  the  sandy  road  that 
winds  along  the  top  of  the  water-shed  be- 
tween two  of  the  smaller  rivers  of  eastern  Virginia. 
The  road  I  was  travelling,  following  "the  ridge" 
for  miles,  had  just  struck  me  as  most  significant  of 
the  character  of  the  race  which  had  dwelt  upon  it  and 
whose  only  avenue  of  communication  with  the  outside 
world  it  had  formerly  been.  Their  once  splendid 
mansions,  now  fast  falling  to  decay,  appeared  to 
view  from  time  to  time,  set  back  far  from  the  road, 
in  proud  seclusion,  among  groves  of  oak  and  hick- 
ory, now  scarlet  and  gold  with  the  early  frost.  Dis- 
tance was  nothing  to  this  people ;  time  was  of  no 
consequence  to  them.  They  desired  but  a  level 


4  Marse  Cban 

path  in  life,  and  that  they  had,  though  the  way  was 
longer,  and  the  outer  world  strode  by  them  as  they 
dreamed. 

I   was  aroused  from    my    reflections    by    hearing 
some  one  ahead  of  me  calling,    "  Heah  !  —  heah  — 
!  whoo-oop,  heah  !  " 

Turning  the  curve  in  the  road,  I  saw  just  before 
me  a  negro  standing,  with  a  hoe  and  a  watering-pot 
in  his  hand.  He  had  evidently  just  gotten  over  the 
"  worm-fence  "  into  the  road,  out  of  the  path  which 
led  zigzag  across  the  "  old  field "  and  was  lost  to 
sight  in  the  dense  growth  of  sassafras.  When  I 
rode  up,  he  was  looking  anxiously  back  down  this 
path  for  his  dog.  So  engrossed  was  he  that  he  did 
not  even  hear  my  horse,  and  I  reined  in  to  wait  until 
he  should  turn  around  and  satisfy  my  curiosity  as  to 
the  handsome  old  place  half  a  mile  off  from  the  road. 

The  numerous  out-buildings  and  the  large  barns 
and  stables  told  that  it  had  once  been  the  seat  of 
wealth,  and  the  wild  waste  of  sassafras  that  covered 
the  broad  fields  gave  it  an  air  of  desolation  which 
greatly  excited  my  interest. 

Entirely  oblivious  of  my  proximity,  the  negro 
went  on  calling  "  Whoo-oop,  heah  !  "  until  along 
the  path,  walking  very  slowly  and  with  great  dignity, 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  5 

appeared  a  noble-looking  old  orange  and  white  setter, 
gray  with  age,  and  corpulent  with  excessive  feeding. 
As  soon  as  he  came  in  sight,  his  master  began  : 

"  Yes,  dat  you  !  You  gittin*  deaf  as  well  as 
bline,  I  s'pose  !  Kyarnt  heah  me  callin',  I  reckon  ? 
Whyn't  yo'  come  on,  dawg  ?  " 

The  setter  sauntered  slowly  up  to  the  fence  and 
stopped,  without  even  deigning  a  look  at  the  speaker, 
who  immediately  proceeded  to  take  the  rails  down, 
talking  meanwhile : 

"  Now,  I  got  to  pull  down  de  gap,  I  s'pose !  Yo' 
so  sp'ilt  yo'  kyahn  hardly  walk.  Jes*  ez  able  to  git 
over  it  as  I  is !  Jes'  like  white  folks — think  'cuz 
you's  white  and  I's  black,  I  got  to  wait  on  yo'  all  de 
time.  Ne'm  mine,  I  ain'  gwine  do  it !  " 

The  fence  having  been  pulled  down  sufficiently  low 
to  suit  his  dogship,  he  marched  sedately  through, 
and,  with  a  hardly  perceptible  lateral  movement  of 
his  tail,  walked  on  down  the  road.  Putting  up  the 
rails  carefully,  the  negro  turned  and  saw  me. 

"  Sarvent,  marster,"  he  said,  taking  his  hat  off. 
Then,  as  if  apologetically  for  having  permitted  a 
stranger  to  witness  what  was  merely  a  family  affair, 
he  added :  "  He  know  I  don'  mean  nothin'  by  what 
I  sez.  He's  Marse  Chan's  dawg,  an'  he's  so  ole  he 


6  Marse  Cban 

kyahn  git  long  no  pearter.      He  know  I'se  jes'  prod- 
jickin'  wid  'im." 

"  Who  is  Marse  Chan  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  and  whose 
place  is  that  over  there,  and  the  one  a  mile  or  two 
back — the  place  with  the  big  gate  and  the  carved 
stone  pillars  ?  " 

"Marse  Chan,"  said  the  darky,  "he's  Marse 
Channin' — my  young  marster ;  an'  dem  places — dis 
one's  Weall's,  an'  de  one  back  dyar  wid  de  rock  gate- 
pos's  is  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  Dey  don*  nobody 
live  dyar  now,  'cep'  niggers.  Arfter  de  war  some 
one  or  nurr  buyed  our  place,  but  his  name  done  kind 
o*  slipped  me.  I  nuver  hearn  on  him  befo';  I  think 
dey's  half-strainers.  I  don'  ax  none  on  'em  no  odds. 
I  lives  down  de  road  heah,  a  little  piece,  an*  I  jes' 
steps  down  of  a  evenin'  and  looks  arfter  de  graves." 

"Well,  where  is  Marse  Chan  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hi !  don*  you  know  ?  Marse  Chan,  he  went  in 
de  army.  I  was  wid  'im.  Yo'  know  he  warn'  gwine 
an'  lef '  Sam." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  it  ? "  I  said,  dis- 
mounting. 

\  Instantly,  and  as  if  by  instinct,  the  negro  stepped 

^forward  and  took  my  bridle.     I   demurred  a  little ; 

but  with  a  bow  that  would  have  honored   old  Sir 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  7 

Roger,  he  shortened  the  reins,  and  taking  my  horse 
from  me,  led  him  along. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  Marse  Chan,"  I  said. 

"Lawd,  marster,  hit's  so  long  ago,  I'd  a'most 
forgit  all  about  it,  ef  I  hedn'  been  wid  him  ever 
sence  he  wuz  born.  Ez  'tis,  I  remembers  it  jes'  like 
'twuz  yistiddy.  Yo'  know  Marse  Chan  an'  me — 
we  wuz  boys  togerr.  I  wuz  older' n  he  wuz,  jes'  de 
same  ez  he  wuz  whiter' n  me.  I  wuz  born  like 
plantin'  corn  time,  de  spring  arfter  big  Jim  an'  de 
six  steers  got  washed  away  at  de  upper  ford  right 
down  dyar  b'low  de  quarters  ez  he  wuz  a-bringin'  de 
Chris'mas  things  home ;  an*  Marse  Chan,  he  warn* 
born  tell  mos'  to  de  harves'  de  year  arfter  my  sister 
Nancy  married  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  Torm,  'bout 
eight  years  arfterwoods. 

"  Well,  when  Marse  Chan  wuz  born,  dey  wuz  de 
grettes1  doin's  at  home  you  ever  did  see.  De  folks 
all  hed  holiday,  jes'  like  in  de  Chris'mas.  Ole  mars- 
ter (we  didn'  call  'im  ole  marster  tell  arfter  Marse 
Chan  wuz  born — befo'  dat  he  wuz  jes'  de  marster, 
so) — well,  de  marster,  his  face  fyar  shine  wid  pleas- 
ure, an'  all  de  folks  wuz  mighty  glad,  too,  'cause  dey 
all  loved  ole  marster,  and  aldo'  dey  did  step  aroun' 
right  peart  when  de  marster  was  lookin'  at  'em,  dyar 


8  Marse  Chan 


warn'  nyar  ban'  on  de  place  but  what,  ef  he  wanted 
anythin',  would  walk  up  to  de  back  poach,  an'  say  he 
warn'  to  see  de  marster.  An'  ev'ybody  wuz  talkin' 
'bout  de  young  marster,  an'  de  maids  an'  de  wimmens 
'bout  de  kitchen  wuz  sayin*  how  'twuz  de  purties' 
chile  dey  ever  see ;  an'  at  dinner-time  de  mens  (all 
on  'em  hed  holiday)  come  roun*  de  poach  an'  ax  how 
de  missis  an'  de  young  marster  wuz,  an*  marster 
come  out  on  de  poach  an'  smile  wus'n  a  'possum,  an* 
sez,  '  Thankee  !  Bofe  doin'  fust  rate,  boys ; '  an' 
den  he  stepped  back  in  de  house,  sort  o'  laughin'  to 
hisse'f,  an'  in  a  minute  he  come  out  ag'in  wid  de 
baby  in  he  arms,  all  wropped  up  in  flannens  an' 
things,  an'  sez,  '  Heah  he,  boys.'  All  de  folks  den, 
dey  went  up  on  de  poach  to  look  at  'im,  drappin' 
dey  hats  on  de  steps  an'  scrapin'  dey  feets  ez  dey 
went  up.  An'  pres'n'y  marster,  lookin'  down  at  we 
all  chil'en  all  packed  togerr  down  dyah  like  a  parecel 
o'  sheep-burrs,  cotch  sight  o'  me  (he  knowed  my 
name,  'cause  I  use*  to  hole  he  boss  fur  'im  some- 
times ;  but  he  didn'  know  all  de  chil'en  by  name, 
dey  wuz  so  many  on  'em),  an'  he  sez,  'Come  up 
heah.'  So  up  I  goes  tippin',  skeered  like,  an*  de 
marster  sez,  *  Ain'  you  Mymie's  son  ? '  '  Yass, 
seh,'  sez  I.  '  Well/  sez  he,  '  I'm  gwine  to  give  you 


A  Tale  of  Old,  Virginia  9 

to  yo'  young  Marse  Channin'  to  be  his  body-servant,' 
an*  he  put  de  baby  right  in  my  arms  (it's  de  truth 
I'm  tellin'  yo'  !),  an'  yo'  jes*  ought  to  a-heard  de 
folks  sayin',  '  Lawd !  marster,  dat  boy'll  drap  dat 
chile  ! '  '  Naw,  he  won't,'  sez  marster  ;  '  I  kin  trust 
'im.'  And  den  he  sez:  'Now,  Sam,  from  dis  time 
you  belong  to  yo'  young  Marse  Channin' ;  I  wan' 
you  to  tek  keer  on  'im  ez  long  ez  he  lives.  You> 
are  to  be  his  boy  from  dis  time.  An*  now,'  he  sezj 
*  carry  'im  in  de  house. '  An'  he  walks  arfter  me  an' 
opens  de  do*s  fur  me,  an'  I  kyars  'im  in  in  my  arms, 
an'  lays  'im  down  on  de  bed.  An'  from  dat  time  I 
was  tooken  in  de  house  to  be  Marse  Channin's  body- 
servant. 

"  Well,  you  nuver  see  a  chile  grow  so  ! 

"  Pres'n'y  he  growed  up  right  big,  an*  ole  marster 
sez  he  must  have  some  edication.  So  he  sont  'im  to 
school  to  ole  Miss  Lawry  down  dyar,  dis  side  o' 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's,  an*  I  use'  to  go  'long  wid  'im 
an'  tote  he  books  an'  we  all's  snacks ;  an*  when  he 
larnt  to  read  an'  spell  right  good,  an'  got  'bout  so-o 
big  (measuring  with  his  hand  a  height  of  some  three 
feet),  ole  Miss  Lawry  she  died,  an*  ole  marster  said 
he  mus'  have  a  man  to  teach  'im  an*  trounce  'im.  So 
we  all  went  to  Mr.  Hall,  whar  kep'  de  school-house 


io  Marse  Chan 

beyant  de  creek,  an'  dyar  we  went  ev'y  day, — 'cep 
Sat'd'ys  of  co'se,  an'  sich  days  ez  Marse  Chan  din' 
warn'  go,  an'  ole  missis  begged  'im  off. 

"  Hit  wuz  down  dyar  Marse  Chan  fust  took  no- 
ticement  o'  Miss  Anne. 

"  Mr.  Hall,  he  teach  gals  ez  well  ez  boys,  an'  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  he  sont  his  daughter  (dat's  Miss  Anne 
I'm  talkin'  about).  She  wuz  a  leetle  bit  o'  gal  when 
she  fust  come.  Yo'  see,  her  ma  wuz  dead,  an'  ole 
Miss  Lucy  Chahmb'lin,  she  lived  wid  her  brurr  an' 
keep'  house  for  'im ;  an'  he  wuz  so  busy  wid  poli- 
tics, he  didn'  have  much  time  to  spyar,  so  he  sont 
Miss  Anne  to  Mr.  Hall's  by  a  'ooman  wid  a  note. 

"  When  she  come  dat  day  in  de  school-house,  an' 
all  de  chil'en  looked  at  her  so  hard,  she  tu'n  right 
red,  an'  tried  to  pull  her  long  curls  over  her  eyes, 
an'  den  put  bofe  de  backs  of  her  little  han's  in  her 
two  eyes,  an'  begin  to  cry  to  herse'f  Marse  Chan 
he  was  settin'  on  de  een'  o'  de  bench  nigh  de  do',  an' 
he  jes'  retched  out  an'  put  he  arm  roun'  her  an' 
drawed  her  up  to  'im.  An'  he  kep'  whisperin'  to 
her,  an'  callin'  her  name,  an'  coddlin'  her;  an' 
pres'n'y  she  teck  her  han's  down  an'  begin  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  dey  'peared  to  tek'  a  gre't  fancy  to  each 
urr  from  dat  time.  Miss  Anne  she  warn'  nuttin'  but 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  n 

a  baby  hardly,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  a  good  big 
boy  'bout  mos'  thirteen  year  ole,  I  reckon.  How- 
s'ever,  dey  sut'n'y  wuz  sot  on  each  urr  an'  (yo'  heah 
me!)  ole  marster  an'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  dey  'peared 
to  like  it  'bout  well  ez  de  chil'en.  Yo'  see,  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin's  place  j'ined  ourn,  an'  it  looked  jes'  ez 
nat'chal  fur  dem  two  chil'en  to  marry  an'  mek  it 
one  plantation,  ez  it  did  fur  de  creek  to  run  down 
de  bottom  from  our  place  into  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's. 
I  don'  rightly  think  de  chil'en  thought  'bout  gittin' 
mar  led,  not  den,  no  mo'n  I  thought  'bout  mar'yin 
Judy  when  she  wuz  a  little  gal  at  Cun'l  Chahm'blin's, 
runnin'  'bout  de  house,  huntin'  fur  Miss  Lucy's 
spectacles ;  but  dey  wuz  good  frien's  from  de  start. 
Marse  Chan  he  use'  to  kyar  Miss  Anne's  books  fur 
her  ev'y  day,  an*  ef  de  road  wuz  muddy  or  she  wuz 
tired,  he  use*  to  tote  her ;  an*  'twarn'  hardly  a  day 
passed  dat  he  didn'  kyar  her  some'n'  to  school — 
apples  or  hick'y  nuts,  or  some'n'.  He  wouldn'  let 
none  o'  de  chil'en  tease  her,  nurr.  Heh  !  One  day, 
one  o'  de  boys  poke'  he  finger  at  Miss  Anne,  and 
arfter  school  Marse  Chan  he  axed  'im  out  'roun'  hine 
de  school-house  out  o'  sight,  an'  ef  he  didn'  whup 
'im! 

"  (Marse  Chan,  he  wuz  de  peartes*  scholar  ole  Mr. 


12  Marse  Cban 

Hall  hed,  an'  Mr.  Hall  he  wuz  mighty  proud  on 
'im.  I  don'  think  he  use'  to  beat  'im  ez  much  ez  he 
did  de  urrs,  aldo'  he  wuz  de  head  in  all  debilment 
dat  went  on,  jes'  ez  he  wuz  in  sayin'  he  lessons.) 

"  Heh !  one  day  in  summer,  jes'  fo'  de  school 
broke  up,  dyah  come  up  a  storm  right  sudden,  an' 
riz  de  creek  (dat  one  yo'  cross'  back  yonder),  an' 
Marse  Chan  he  toted  Miss  Anne  home  on  he  back. 
He  ve'y  off'n  did  dat  when  de  parf  wuz  muddy. 
But  dis  day  when  dey  come  to  de  creek,  it  had  done 
washed  all  de  lawgs  'way.  'Twuz  still  mighty  high, 
so  Marse  Chan  he  put  Miss  Anne  down,  an'  he  took 
a  pole  an'  waded  right  in.  Hit  took  'im  long  up  to 
de  shoulders.  Den  he  waded  back,  an'  took  Miss 
Anne  up  on  his  head  an'  kyared  her  right  over.  At 
fust  she  was  skeered  ;  but  he  tol'  her  he  could  swim 
an'  wouldn'  let  her  git  hu't,  an'  den  she  let  'im  kyar 
her  'cross,  she  hol'in'  his  han's.  I  warn'  'long  dat 
day,  but  he  sut'n'y  did  dat  thing ! 

"  Ole  marster  he  wuz  so  pleased  'bout  it,  he  giv' 
Marse  Chan  a  pony ;  an'  Marse  Chan  rid  'im  to 
school  de  day  arfter  he  come,  so  proud,  an'  sayin' 
how  he  wuz  gwine  to  let  Anne  ride  behine  'im. 
When  he  come  home  dat  evenin*  he  wuz  walkin'. 
'  Hi !  where's  yo'  pony  ? '  said  ole  marster.  '  Did  he 


A  Tale  of  Ola  Virginia  13 

fling  you  ? '  c  I  give  'im  to  Anne,'  says  Marse  Chan. 
'  She  liked  'im,  an' — I  kin  walk.'  '  Yes,'  sez  ole 
marster,  laughin',  ( I  s'pose  you's  already  done  giv' 
her  yo'se'f,  an'  nex'  thing  I  know  you'll  be  givin'  her 
this  plantation  and  all  my  niggers.' 

"  Well,  about  a  fortnight  or  sich  a  matter  arfter 
dat,  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  sont  over  an'  invited  all  o'  we 
all  over  to  dinner,  an'  Marse  Chan  wuz  'spressaly 
named  in  de  note  whar  Ned  brought ;  an'  arfter  din- 
ner he  made  ole  Phil,  whar  wuz  his  ker'ige-driver, 
bring  roun'  Marse  Chan's  pony  wid  a  little  side- 
saddle on  'im,  an'  a  beautiful  little  haws  wid  a  bran'- 
new  saddle  an'  bridle  on  him  ;  an'  he  gits  up  an' 
meks  Marse  Chan  a  gre't  speech,  an'  presents  'im  de 
little  haws ;  an'  den  he  calls  Miss  Anne,  an*  she 
comes  out  on  de  poach  in  a  little  ridin'  frock,  an' 
dey  puts  her  on  her  pony,  an'  Marse  Chan  mounts 
his  haws,  an'  dey  goes  to  ride,  while  de  grown  folks 
is  a-settin*  on  de  poach  an'  a-laughin'  an'  chattin'  an' 
smokin'  dey  cigars. 

"  Dem  wuz  good  ole  times,  marster — de  bes*  &am\  A 
uver  see !     Dey  wuz,   in  fac'  !     Niggers  didn'  hed  / 
nothin'  '/  all  to  do — jes'  hed  to  'ten'  to  de  feedin'  an'/ 
cleanin*  de  hawses,  an'  doin'  what  de  marster  tell  'em  / 
to  do  ;  an'  when  dey  wuz  sick,  dey  had  things  sont « 


Marse  Cban 

< 

'em  out  de  house,  an'  de  same  doctor  come  to  see 
;'em  whar  'ten'  to  de  white  folks  when  dey  wuz  po'ly, 
Jan'  all.  Dyar  warn'  no  trouble  nor  nuttin'. 

"Well,  things  tuk  a  change  arfter  dat.  Marse 
Chan  he  went  to  de  bo'din'  school,  whar  he  use'  to 
write  to  me  constant.  Ole  missis  use'  to  read  me  de 
letters,  an*  den  I'd  git  Miss  Anne  to  read  'em  ag'in 
to  me  when  I'd  see  her.  He  use'  to  write  to  her 
too,  an'  she  use'  to  write  to  him  too  !  Den  Miss 
Anne  she  wuz  sont  off  to  school  too.  An'  in  de 
summer  time  dey'd  bofe  come  home,  an'  yo'  hardly 
know  wherr  Marse  Chan  lived  at  home  or  over  at 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  !  He  wuz  over  dyah  constant ! 
'Twuz  al'ays  ridin'  or  fishin'  down  dyah  in  de  river ; 
or  sometimes  he'd  go  over  dyah,  an'  'im  an'  she'd  go 
out  an'  set  in  de  yard  onder  de  trees  ;  she  settin'  up 
mekin'  out  she  wuz  knittin'  some  sort  o'  bright- 
cullored  some'n',  wid  de  grarss  growin'  all  up  'g'inst 
her,  an'  her  hat  th'owed  back  on  her  neck,  an'  he 
readin'  to  her  out  books ;  an'  sometimes  dey'd  bofe 
read  out  de  same  book,  fust  one  an'  den  turr.  I  use' 
to  see  'em  !  Dat  wuz  when  dey  wuz  growin'  up 
like. 

"  Den  ole  marster  he  run  for  Congress,  an*  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  wuz  put  up  to  run  'g'inst  ole 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  15 

marster  by  de  Dimicrats  ;  but  ole  marster  he  beat 
'im.  Yo'  know  he  wuz  gwine  do  dat !  Co'se  he 
wuz !  Dat  made  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  mighty 
mad,  and  dey  stopt  visitin'  each  urr  reg'lar,  like  dey 
had  been  doin'  all  'long.  Den  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he 
sort  o'  got  in  debt,  an'  sell  some  o'  he  niggers,  an' 
dat's  de  way  de  fuss  begun.  Dat's  whar  de  lawsuit 
come  from.  Ole  marster  he  didn'  like  nobody  to 
sell  niggers,  an*  knowin*  dat  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wuz 
sellin'  o'  his,  he  writ  an'  offered  to  buy  his  M'ria  an' 
all  her  chiren,  'cause  she  hed  mar'ied  our  Zeek'yel. 
An'  don'  yo'  think,  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  axed  ole 
marster  mo'  'n  th'ee  niggers  wuz  wuth  fur  M'ria ! 
Befo'  old  marster  buy  her,  dough,  de  sheriff  come 
an'  levelled  on  M'ria  an*  a  whole  parecel  o'  urr  nig- 
gers. Ole  marster  he  went  to  de  sale,  an*  bid  for 
'em ;  but  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  got  some  one  to  bid 
'g'inst  ole  marster.  Dey  wuz  knocked  out  to  ole 
marster  dough,  an'  den  dey  hed  a  big  lawsuit,  an*  ole 
marster  was  agwine  to  co't,  off  an'  on,  fur  some 
years,  till  at  lars'  de  co't  decided  dat  M'ria  belongst 
to  ole  marster.  Ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  den  wuz  so 
mad  he  sued  ole  marster  for  a  little  slipe  o'  Ian' 
down  dyah  on  de  line  fence,  whar  he  said  belongst 
to  him.  Evy'body  knowed  hit  belongst  to  ole 


i6  Marse  Chan 


marster.  Ef  yo'  go  down  dyah  now,  I  kin  show  it  t< 
yo',  inside  de  line  fence,  whar  it  hed  done  been  uve 
sence  long  befo'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wuz  born.  Bu 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  was  a  mons'us  perseverin'  man 
an'  ole  marster  he  wouldn'  let  nobody  run  over  'im 
No,  dat  he  wouldn' !  So  dey  wuz  agwine  down  t< 
co't  about  dat,  fur  I  don'  know  how  long,  till  ol 
marster  beat  'im  agin. 

"  All  dis  time,  yo'  know,  Marse  Chan  wuz  agoin 
back'ads  and  for'ads  to  college,  an'  wuz  growed  up 
ve'y  fine  young  man.  He  wuz  a  ve'y  likely  gent' 
man  !  Miss  Anne  she  hed  done  mos'  growed  up  to< 
— wuz  puttin'  her  hyar  up  like  ole  missis  use'  to  pu 
hern  up,  an*  'twuz  jes'  ez  bright  ez  de  sorrel's  man 
when  de  sun  cotch  on  it,  an'  her  eyes  wuz  gre't  bij 
dark  eyes,  like  her  pa's,  on'y  bigger  an'  not  so  fierce 
an'  'twarn'  none  o'  de  young  ladies  ez  purty  ez  sh 
wuz.  She  an'  Marse  Chan  still  set  a  heap  o'  sto'  b; 
one  'nurr,  but  I  don't  think  dey  wuz  easy  wid  eacl 
urr  ez  when  he  used  to  tote  her  home  from  schoc 
on  he  back.  Marse  Chan  he  use'  to  love  de  ve'; 
groun'  she  walked  on,  dough,  is  my  'pinion.  Heh 
His  face  'twould  light  up  whenever  she  come  inti 
chu'ch,  or  anywhere,  jes'  like  de  sun  hed  come  th'oi 
a  chink  on  it  sudden'y. 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  17 

"  Den  ole  marster  los'  he  eyes.  D'  yo'  ever  heah 
'bout  dat  ?  Heish  !  Didn'  yo'  ? 

"Well,  one  night  de  big  barn  cotch  fire.  De 
stables,  yo'  know,  wuz  onder  de  big  barn,  an'  all  de 
hawses  wuz  in  dyah.  Hit  'peared  to  me  like  'twarn' 
no  time  befo'  all  de  folks  an'  de  neighbors  dey  come, 
an'  dey  wuz  a-totin*  water,  an'  a-tryin'  to  save  de  po' 
critters,  an'  dey  got  a  heap  on  'em  out ;  but  de 
ker'ige-hawses  dey  would  n'  come  out,  an*  dey  wuz 
a-runnin'  back' ads  an'  for' ads  inside  de  stalls,  a-nik- 
erin'  an'  a-screamin',  like  dey  knowed  dey  time  hed 
come.  Yo'  could  heah  'em  in  dyah  so  pitiful,  an' 
pres'n'y  ole  marster  said  to  Ham  Fisher  (he  wuz  de 
ker'ige-driver),  'Go  in  dyah,  Ham,  an'  try  to  save 
'em ;  don'  let  'em  bu'n  to  death.' 

"  An'  Ham  he  went  right  in. 

"  An'  jes'  arfter  he  got  in,  de  shed  whar  it  hed  fus* 
cotch  fell  in,  an'  de  sparks  shot  'way  up  in  de  air ; 
an'  Ham  didn'  come  back  ;  an'  de  fire  begin  to  lick 
out  onder  de  eaves  over  whar  de  ker'ige-hawses' 
stalls  wuz.  An'  all  of  a  sudden  ole  marster  tu'ned 
an'  kissed  ole  missis,  who  wuz  standin'  dyah  nigh 
him,  wid  her  face  jes'  ez  white  ez  a  sperit's,  an',  befo' 
anybody  knowed  what  he  wuz  gwine  do,  jumped 
right  in  de  do',  an'  de  smoke  come  po'in'  out  behine 


1 8  Marse  Chan 


'im.  WeJl,  seh !  I  nuver  'spects  to  heah  tell  Jedg- 
ment  sich  a  soun'  ez  de  folks  set  up  !  Ole  missis — 
she  jes'  drapt  down  on  her  knees  in  de  mud  an' 
prayed  out  loud. 

"  Hit  'peared  like  her  pra'r  wuz  heard ;  for  in  a 
minit,  right  out  de  same  do',  kyain'  Ham  Fisher  in 
his  arms,  come  ole  marster,  wid  his  clo's  all  blazin'. 
Dey  fling  water  on  'im,  an'  put  'im  out ;  an',  ef  you 
b'lieve  me,  yo'  wouldn'  a-knowed  'twuz  ole  marster. 

"  Yo'  see,  he  hed  done  find  Ham  Fisher  done  fall 
down  in  de  smoke  right  by  the  ker'ige-haws'  stalls, 
whar  he  sont  him,  an'  he  hed  to  tote  'im  back  in  his 
arms  th'oo  de  fire  what  hed  done  cotch  de  front  part 
o'  de  stable,  an'  to  keep  de  flame  from  gittin'  down 
Ham  Fisher'  th'ote  he  hed  teck  oflf  his  own  hat  and 
mashed  it  all  over  Ham  Fisher'  face,  an'  he  hed  kep' 
Ham  Fisher  from  bein'  so  much  bu'nt ;  but  he  wuz 
bu'nt  dreadful !  He  beard  an'  hyar  wuz  all  nyawed 
oflf,  an'  he  face  an'  han's  an'  neck  wuz  scorified  tur- 
rible.  Well,  he  jes'  laid  Ham  Fisher  down,  an'  then 
he  kind  o'  staggered  for'ad,  an*  ole  missis  ketch*  'im 
in  her  arms. 

"  Ham  Fisher,  he  warn'  bu'nt  so  bad,  an'  he  got 
out  in  a  month  or  two  ;  an'  arfter  a  long  time,  ole 
marster  he  got  well,  too  ;  but  he  wuz  always  stone 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  19 

blind  arfter  that.  He  nuver  could  see  none  from 
dat  night. 

"Marse  Chan  he  corned  home  from  college  to- 
reckly,  an'  he  sut'n'y  did  nuss  ole  marster  faithful — 
jes'  like  a  'ooman. 

"  Den  he  teck  charge  of  de  plantation  arfter  dat ; 
an'  I  use'  to  wait  on  'im  jes'  like  when  we  wuz  boys 
togerr ;  an'  sometimes  we'd  slip  off  an'  have  a  fox- 
hunt, an'  he'd  be  jes'  like  he  wuz  in  ole  times,  befo* 
ole  marster  got  bline,  an'  Miss  Anne  Chahmb'lin 
stopt  comin'  over  to  our  house,  an'  settin'  onder  de 
trees,  readin*  out  de  same  book. 

*' IJe__suj^n^y  fwuz  good  to  .me* — Nuttin  -nuver 
made  no  diffunee  'bout  dat!  He  nuver  hit  me  a 
lick  in  his  life — an'  nuver  let  nobody  else  do  it,  nurr. 

"  I  'members  one  day,  when  he  wuz  a  leetle  bit  o' 
boy,  ole  marster  hed  done  tole  we  all  chil'en  not  to 
slide  on  de  straw-stacks ;  an'  one  day  me  an'  Marse 
Chan  thought  ole  marster  hed  done  gone  'way  from 
home.  We  watched  him  git  on  he  haws  an'  ride  up 
de  road  out  o'  sight,  an'  we  wuz  out  in  de  field  a-slid- 
in'  an*  a-slidin',  when  up  comes  ole  marster.  We 
start  to  run ;  but  he  hed  done  see  us,  an'  he  called 
us  to  come  back  ;  an'  sich  a  whuppin'  ez  he  did  gi' 
us  ! 


20  Marse  Cban 


"  Fust  he  teck  Marse  Chan,  an'  den  he  teched  me 

up.     He  nuver  hu't  me,  but  in  co'se  I  wuz  a-hol- 

lerin'  ez  hard  ez  I   could  stave  it,  'cause  I  knowed 

dat  wuz  gwine  mek  him  stop.     Marse  Chan  he  hed'n 

open  he  mouf  long  ez  ole  marster  was  tunin'  'im  ; 

but  soon  ez  he  commence  warmin'  me  an*  I  begin  to 

holler,  Marse  Chan  he  bu'st   out   cryin',  an'   stept 

•ight  in  befo'  ole   marster,  an'   ketchin'   de   whup, 

said : 

"  *  Stop,  seh  !  Yo'  sha'n't  whup  'im  ;  he  b'longs 
:o  me,  an'  ef  you  hit  'im  another  lick  I'll  set  'im 
'reel' 

"  I  wish  yo'  hed  see  ole  marster !  Marse  Chan 
he  warn*  mo'n  eight  years  ole,  an'  dyah  dey  wuz — 
ole  marster  stan'in'  wid  he  whup  raised  up,  an*  Marse 
Chan  red  an'  cryin',  hol'in'  on  to  it,  an'  sayin'  I 
b'longst  to  'im. 

"  Ole  marster,  he  raise'  de  whup,  an'  den  he  drapt 
it,  an'  breke  out  in  a  smile  over  he  face,  an'  he 
chuck'  Marse  Chan  onder  de  chin,  an'  tu'n  right 
roun'  an'  went  away,  laughin'  to  hisse'f,  an'  I  heah 
'im  tellin'  ole  missis  'bout  it  dat  evenin',  an'  laughin' 
'bout  it. 

"  'Twan'  so  mighty  long  arfter  dat  when  dey  fust 
got  to  talkin'  'bout  de  war.  Dey  wuz  a-dictatm' 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  21 

back'ads  an'  for'ds  'bout  it  fur  two  or  th'ee  years,  To' 
it  come  sho'  nuff,  you  know.  Ole  marster,  he  wuz 
a  Whig,  an'  of  co'se  Marse  Chan  he  teck  after  he  pa. 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  he  wuz  a  Dimicrat.  He  wuz  in 
favor  of  de  war,  an'  ole  marster  and  Marse  Chan  dey 
wuz  agin'  it.  Dey  wuz  a-talkin'  'bout  it  all  de  time, 
an'  purty  soon  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  went  about 
ev'vywhar  speakin'  an'  noratin'  'bout  Ferginia  ought 
to  secede ;  an'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  picked  up  to  talk 
agin'  'im.  Dat  wuz  de  way  dey  come  to  fight  de 
duil.  I  sut'n'y  wuz  skeered  fur  Marse  Chan  dat 
mawnin',  an'  he  was  jes'  ez  cool ! 

"  Yo'  see,  it  happen  so :  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  a- 
speakin'  down  at  de  Deep  Creek  Tavern,  an'  he 
kind  o'  got  de  bes'  of  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin.  All 
de  white  folks  laughed  an'  hoorawed,  an'  ole  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin — my  Lawd !  I  t'ought  he'd  'a'  bu'st,  he 
was  so  mad.  Well,  when  it  come  to  his  tu'n  to 
speak,  he  jes'  light  into  Marse  Chan.  He  call  'im 
a  traitor,  an'  a  ab'litionis',  an'  I  don'  know  what  all. 
Marse  Chan,  he  jes'  kep'  cool  till  de  ole  Cun'l  light 
into  he  pa.  Ez  soon  ez  he  name  ole  marster,  I  seen 
Marse  Chan  sort  o'  lif '  up  he  head.  D'  yo'  ever  see 
a  haws  rar  he  head  up  right  sudden  at  night  when  he 
see  somethin'  comin'  to'ds  'im  from  de  side  an'  he 


22  Marse  Chan 


don'  know  what  'tis  ?  Ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he 
went  right  on.  He  say  ole  marster  hed  teach  Marse 
Chan  ;  dat  ole  marster  wuz  a  wuss  ab'litionis'  dan 
he  son.  I  looked  at  Marse  Chan,  an'  sez  to  myse'f : 
'  Fo'  Gord  !  old  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  better  min' !  '  an' 
I  hedn'  got  de  wuds  out,  when  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin 
scuse'  ole  marster  o'  cheatin'  'im  out  o'  he  niggers, 
an'  stealin'  piece  o'  he  Ian' — dat's  de  Ian'  I  tole  you 
'bout.  Well,  seh,  nex'  thing  I  knowed,  I  heahed 
Marse  Chan — hit  all  happen  right  'long  togerr,  jis' 
like  lightnin'  and  thunder  when  they  hit  right  at 
you  ! — I  heah  'im  say  : 

" '  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  what  you  says  is  false,  an' 
yo'  knows  it  to  be  so.  You  have  wilfully  slandered 
one  of  de  pures'  an'  nobles'  men  Gord  ever  made, 
an'  nuttin'  but  yo'  gray  hyars  protects  you.' 

"Well,  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  he  ra'ed  an'  he 
pitch'd !  He  say  he  wan'  too  ole,  an'  he'd  show  'im 
so. 

Cf  '  Ve'y  well,"  says  Marse  Chan. 

"  De  meetin'  breke  up  den.  I  wuz  hol'in'  de 
hawses  out  dyar  in  de  road  by  de  een'  o'  de  poach, 
an'  I  see  Marse  Chan  talkin'  an'  talkin'  to  Mr.  Gor- 
don an*  anurr  gent'man,  an'  den  he  come  out  an'  got 
on  de  sorrel  an'  galloped  off.  Soon  ez  he  got  out  o' 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  23 

sight  he  pulled  up,  an'  we  walked  along  tell  we  come 
to  de  road  whar  leads  off  to'ds  Mr.  Harbour's.  He 
wuz  de  big  lawyer  o*  de  country.  Dyar  he  tu'ned 
off.  All  dis  time  he  hedn'  said  a  wud,  'cep'  to  kind 
o'  mumble  to  hisse'f  now  an*  den.  When  we  got  to 
Mr.  Harbour's,  he  got  down  an'  went  in.  (Dat  wuz 
in  de  late  winter ;  de  folks  wuz  jes'  beginnin'  to 
plough  fur  corn.)  He  stayed  dyar  'bout  two  hours, 
an'  when  he  come  out  Mr.  Barbour  come  out  to  de 
gate  wid  'im  an'  shake  han's  arfter  he  got  up  in  ds 
saddle.  Den  we  all  rode  off. 

"  'Twuz  late  den — good  dark ;  an'  we  rid  ez  hard 
ez  we  could,  tell  we  come  to  de  ole  school-house  at 
ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  gate.  When- we  got  deah, 
Marse  Chan  got  down  an'  walked  right  slow  'roun' 
de  house.  Arfter  lookin'  roun'  a  little  while  an' 
try  in*  de  do'  to  see  eft  wuz  shet,  he  walked  down  de 
road  tell  he  got  to  de  creek.  He  stop'  dyar  a  little 
while  an'  picked  up  two  or  three  little  rocks  an' 
frowed  'em  in,  an'  pres'n'y  he  got  up  an'  we  come  on 
home.  Ez  he  got  down,  he  tu'ned  to  me,  an',  rub- 
bin'  de  sorrel's  nose,  he  said  :  '  Have  'em  well  fed, 
Sam  ;  I'll  want  'em  early  in  de  mawnin'.' 

"  Dat  night  at  supper  he  laugh  an'  talk,  an*  he  set 
at  de  table  a  long  time.  Arfter  ole  marster  went  to 


24  Marse  Cban 


bed,  he  went  in  de  charmber  an'  set  on  de  bed  by  'im 
talkin'  to  'im  an'  tellin'  'im  'bout  de  meetin'  an'  e'vy- 
thing ;  but  he  ain'  nuver  mention  ole  Cun'l  Chahm- 
b'lin's  name.  When  he  got  up  to  come  out  to  de 
office  in  de  yard,  whar  he  slept,  he  stooped  down  an' 
kissed  'im  jes'  like  he  wuz  a  baby  layin'  dyah  in  de 
bed,  an*  he'd  hardly  let  ole  missis  go  at  all. 

<(  I  knowed  some'n  wuz  up,  an'  nex  mawnin'  I 
called  'im  early  befo'  light,  like  he  tole  me,  an'  he 
dressed  an'  come  out  pres'n'y  jes'  like  he  wuz  gwine 
to  church.  I  had  de  hawses  ready,  an*  we  went  out 
de  back  way  to'ds  de  river. 

c<  Ez  we  rid  along,  he  said: 

"  '  Sam,  you  an'  I  wuz  boys  togerr,  wa'n't  we  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  sez  I,  '  Marse  Chan,  dat  we  wuz/ 
'  You   have  been  ve'y  faithful   'to  me/  sez  he, 

'  I  have  seen  to  it  that  you  are  well  provided  fur. 
You  want  to  marry  Judy,  I  know,  an'  you'll  be  able 
to  buy  her  ef  yo'  want  to.' 

"  Den  he  tole  me  he  wuz  gwoine  to  fight  a  duil, 
an'  in  case  he  should  git  shot,  he  had  set  me  free  an' 
giv'  me  nuff  to  tek  keer  o'  me  an'  my  wife  when  I  git 
her  ez  long  ez  we  lived.  He  said  he'd  like  me  to 
stay  an*  tek  keer  o'  ole  marster  an'  ole  missis  ez  long 
ez  dey  lived,  an'  he  said  it  wouldn'  be  ve'y  long,  he 


n 

<an' 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  25 

reckoned.  Dat  wuz  de  on'y  time  he  voice  broke — 
when  he  said  dat ;  an'  I  couldn'  speak  a  wud,  my 
th'oat  choked  me  so. 

"  When  we  come  to  de  river,  we  tu'ned  right  up 
de  bank,  an'  arfter  ridin'  'bout  a  mile  or  sich  a  mot- 
ter,  we  stopped  whar  dey  wuz  a  little  clearin'  wid 
elder  bushes  on  one  side  an*  two  big  gum-trees  on 
de  urr,  an'  de  sky  wuz  all  red,  an'  de  water  down 
tow'ds  whar  the  sun  wuz  comin*  wuz  jes'  like  de  sky. 

"  Pres'n'y  Mr.  Gordon  he  come,  wid  a  'hogany 
box,  'bout  so  big,  'fore  'im,  an'  he  got  down,  an' 
Marse  Chan  tole  me  to  tek  all  de  hawses  an'  go 
'roun'  behine  de  bushes  whar  I  tell  you  'bout — off  to 
one  side ;  an'  'fore  I  got  'roun'  dyah,  ole  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  an'  Mr.  Hennin  an'  Dr.  Call  come  ridin' 
from  t'urr  way,  to'ds  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  When 
dey  hed  tied  dey  hosses,  de  urr  gent'mens  went  up 
to  whar  Mr.  Gordon  wuz,  an'  arfter  some  chattin' 
Mr.  Hennin  step'  off  'bout  fur  ez'  cross  dis  road,  or 
mebbe  it  mout  be  a  little  fur'er ;  an'  den  I  see  'em 
th'oo  de  bushes  loadin*  de  pistils,  an*  talk  a  little 
while ;  an*  den  Marse  Chan  an'  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'- 
lin walked  up  an'  dey  gin'  'em  de  pistils  in  dey  han's, 
an'  Marse  Chan  he  stand  wid  his  face  right  tow'ds  de 
sun.  I  seen  it  shine  on  him  jes'  ez  it  come  up  over 


26  Marse  Cban 


de  low  groun's,  an'  he  look'  like  he  do  sometimes 
when  he  come  out  of  church. 

"  I  wuz  so  skeered  I  couldn'  say  nuttin'.  Ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  could  shoot  fust  rate,  an'  Marse 
Chan  he  nuver  missed. 

"  Den  I  heahed  Mr.  Gordon  say,  '  Gent'mens,  is 
yo'  ready  ? '  and  bofe  on  'em  sez,  'Ready,'  jes'  so. 

"An'  he  sez,  'Fire,  one,  two' — an'  ez  he  sez 
'  one/  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  raised  he  pistil  an'  shoot 
right  at  Marse  Chan.  De  ball  went  th'oo  his  hat : 
I  seen  he  hat  sort  o'  settle  on  he  head  ez  de  bullit 
hit  it!  an'  he  jes'  tilted  his  pistil  up  in  de  a'r  an' 
shot — bang;  an'  ez  de  pistil  went  *  fang,'  he  sez  to 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin.  *  I  mek  you  a  present  to  yo' 
fam'ly,  seh  ! ' 

"  Well,  dey  had  some  talkin'  arfter  dat.  I  didn't 
git  rightly  what  't  wuz ;  but  it  'peared  like  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  he  warn't  satisfied,  an'  wanted  to  have 
anurr  shot.  De  seconds  dey  wuz  talkin',  an'  pres'n'y 
dey  put  de  pistils  up,  an'  Marse  Chan  an'  Mr.  Gor- 
don shook  han's  wid  Mr.  Hennin  an'  Dr.  Call,  an' 
come  an'  got  on  dey  hawses.  An'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin 
he  got  on  his  hawse  an'  rode  away  wid  de  urr  gent'- 
mens,  lookin'  like  he  did  de  day  befo'  when  all  de 
people  laughed  at  'im. 


mek  you  a  /  resent  to  yo1  f airily,  seh  !  ' " 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  27 

"I  b'lieve  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  wan'  to  shoot 
Marse  Chan,  anyways  ! 

"  We  come  on  home  to  breakfast,  I  totin'  de  box 
wid  de  pistils  befo'  me  on  de  roan.  Would  you 
b'lieve  me,  seh,  Marse  Chan  he  am'  nuver  said  a  wud 
'bout  it  to  ole  marster  or  nobody  !  Ole  missis  didn' 
fin'  out  'bout  it  for  mo'n  a  month,  an*  den,  Lawd  ! 
how  she  did  cry  and  kiss  Marse  Chan ;  an*  ole  mars- 
ter, aldo'  he  nuver  say  much,  he  wuz  jes'  ez  please' 
ez  ole  missis  :  he  call'  me  in  de  room  an'  made  me 
lock  de  do'  an'  tole  'im  all  'bout  it,  an'  when  I  got 
th'oo  he  gi'  me  five  dollars  an'  a  pyar  of  breeches. 

"  But  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  he  nuver  did  furgive 
Marse  Chan,  an'  Miss  Anne  she  got  mad  too. 
Wimmens  is  mons'us  onreasonable  nohow.  Dey's 
jes'  like  a  catfish :  you  can  n'  tek  hole  on  'em  like 
urr  folks,  an'  when  you  gits  'm  yo'  can  n'  always 
hole  'em. 

"  What  meks  me  think  so  ?  Heap  o'  things — dis  : 
Marse  Chan  he  done  gi'  Miss  Anne  her  pa  jes'  ez 
good  ez  I  gi'  Marse  Chan's  dawg  sweet  'taters,  an*  she 
git  mad  wid  'im  ez  if  he  hed  kill  'im  stid  o*  sen'in 
7im  back  to  her  dat  mawnin'  whole  an'  soun'.  B'lieve 
me  !  she  wouldn'  even  speak  to  him  arfter  dat. 

"  Don'  I  'member  dat  mawnin'  ! 


28  Marse  Chan 


"  We  wuz  gwine  fox-huntin',  'bout  six  weeks  or 
sich  a  matter  arfter  de  dull,  an'  we  meet  Miss  Anne 
ridin'  'long  wid  anurr  lady  an'  two  gent'mens  whar 
wuz  stayin'  at  her  house.  Dyah  wuz  always  some 
one  or  nurr  dyah  co'tin'  her.  Well,  dat  mawnin'  we 
meet  'em  right  in  de  road.  'Twuz  de  fust  time 
Marse  Chan  had  see  her  sence  de  duil,  an'  he  raises 
he  hat  ez  he  pahss,  an'  she  looks  right  at  'im  wid  her 
head  up  in  de  yair  like  she  nuver  see  'im  befo'  in  her 
born  days;  an'  when  she  comec  by  me,  she  sez, 
'  Good-mawnin',  Sam  !  '  Gord  !  I  nuver  see  nut- 
tin'  like  de  look  dat  come  on  Marse  Chan's  face 
when  she  pahss  'im  like  dat.  He  gi'  de  sorrel  a 
pull  dat  fotch  'im  back  settin  down  in  de  san'  on  he 
hanches.  He  ve'y  lips  wuz  white.  I  tried  to  keep 
up  wid  'im,  but  'twarn  no  use.  He  sont  me  back 
home  pres'n'y,  an'  he  rid  on.  I  sez  to  myself,  *  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin,  don'  yo'  meet  Marse  Chan  dis  mawnin.' 
He  ain'  bin  lookin'  roun'  de  ole  school-house,  whar 
he  an'  Miss  Anne  use'  to  go  to  school  to  ole  Mr. 
Hall  togerr,  to-day.  He  won'  stan*  no  prodjickin' 
to-day. ' 

"  He  nuver  come  home  dat  night  tell  'way  late, 
an'  ef  he'd  been  fox-huntin'  it  mus'  ha'  been  de  ole 
red  whar  lives  down  in  de  greenscum  mashes  he'd 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  29 

been  chasin'.  De  way  de  sorrel  wuz  gormed  up  wid 
sweat  an'  mire  sut'n'y  did  hu't  me.  He  walked  up 
to  de  stable  wid  he  head  down  all  de  way,  an'  I'se  seen 
'im  go  eighty  miles  of  a  winter  day,  an'  prance  into 
de  stable  at  night  jes'  ez  fresh  ez  ef  he  hed  jes'  can- 
tered over  to  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's  to  supper.  I 
nuver  see  a  haws  beat  so  sence  I  knowed  de  fetlock 
from  de  fo'lock,  an'  bad  ez  he  wuz  he  want  ez  bad  ez 
Marse  Chan. 

"  Whew !  he  didn'  git  over  dat  thing,  seh — he 
nuver  did  git  over  it ! 

"  De  war  come  on  jes'  den,  an'  Marse  Chan  wuz 
elected  cap'n  ;  but  he  wouldn'  tek  it.  He  said  Fir- 
ginia  hadn'  seceded,  an'  he  wuz  gwine  stan*  by  her. 
Den  dey  'lected  Mr.  Gordon  cap'n. 

"  I  sut'n'y  did  wan'  Marse  Chan  to  tek  de  place, 
cuz  I  knowed  he  wuz  gwine  tek  me  wid  'im.  He 
wan'  gwine  widout  Sam.  An'  beside,  he  look  so  po' 
an*  thin,  I  thought  he  wuz  gwine  die. 

"  Of  co'se,  ole  missis  she  heared  'bout  it,  an'  she 
meet  Miss  Anne  in  de  road,  an*  cut  her  jes'  like 
Miss  Anne  cut  Marse  Chan.  Ole  missis,  she  wuz 
proud  ez  anybody ! 

"  So  we  wuz  mo'  strangers  dan  ef  we  hadn'  live'  in 
a  hunderd  miles  of  each  urr.  An'  Marse  Chan  he 


30  Marse  Chan 

wuz  gittin'  thinner  an'  thinner,  an*  Firginia  she  come 
out,  an'  den  Marse  Chan  he  went  to  Richmond  an' 
listed,  an'  come  back  an'  sey  he  wuz  a  private,  an* 
he  didn'  know  whe'r  he  could  tek  me  or  not.  He 
writ  to  Mr.  Gordon,  hows'ever,  an'  'twuz  'cided  dat 
when  he  went  I  wuz  to  go  'long  an'  wait  on  him  an' 
de  cap'n  too.  I  didn'  min*  dat,  yo'  know,  long  ez  I 
could  go  wid  Marse  Chan,  an'  I  like'  Mr.  Gordon, 
anyways. 

"  Well,  one  night  Marse  Chan  come  back  from 
de  offis  wid  a  telegram  dat  say,  '  Come  at  once,'  so 
he  wuz  to  start  next  mawnin'.  He  uniform  wuz  all 
ready,  gray  wid  yaller  trimmin's,  an'  mine  wuz  ready 
too,  an'  he  had  ole  marster's  sword,  whar  de  State  gi' 
'im  in  de  Mexikin  war;  an'  he  trunks  wuz  all  packed 
wid  ev'rything  in  'em,  an'  my  chist  was  packed  too, 
an'  Jim  Rasher  he  druv  'em  over  to  de  depo'  in  de 
waggin,  an'  we  wuz  to  start  nex'  mawnin'  'bout  light. 
Dis  wuz  'bout  de  las'  o'  spring,  you  know. 

"  Dat  night  ole  missis  made  Marse  Chan  dress  up 
in  he  uniform,  an'  he  sut'n'y  did  look  splendid,  wid 
he  long  mustache  an'  he  wavin'  hyah  an'  he  tall  fig- 
ger. 

"  Arfter  supper  he  come  down  an'  sez :  '  Sam,  I 
wan'  you  to  tek  dis  note  an'  kyar  it  over  to  Cun'l 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  3 1 

Chahmb'lin's,  an'  gi'  it  to  Miss  Anne  wid  yo'  own 
han's,  an'  bring  me  wud  what  she  sez.  Don'  let  any 
one  know 'bout  it,  or  know  why  you've  gone/  'Yes, 
seh,'  sez  I. 

"  Yo'  see,  I  knowed  Miss  Anne's  maid  over  at  ole 
Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's — dat  wuz  Judy, — an'  I  knowed  I 
could  wuk  it.  So  I  tuk  de  roan  an'  rid  over,  an' 
tied  'im  down  de  hill  in  de  cedars,  an'  I  wen'  'roun' 
to  de  back  yard.  'Twuz  a  right  blowy  sort  o'  night ; 
de  moon  wuz  jes'  risin',  but  de  clouds  wuz  so  big  it 
didn'  shine  'cep  th'oo  a  crack  now  an*  den.  I  soon 
foun'  my  gal,  an'  arfter  tellin'  her  two  or  three  lies 
'bout  herse'f,  I  got  her  to  go  in  an'  ax  Miss  Anne  to 
come  to  de  do'.  When  she  come,  I  gi'  her  de  note, 
an'  arfter  a  little  while  she  bro't  me  anurr,  an'  I  tole 
her  good-by,  an'  she  gi'  me  a  dollar,  an*  I  come  home 
an'  gi'  de  letter  to  Marse  Chan.  He  read  it,  an'  tole 
me  to  have  de  hawses  ready  at  twenty  minits  to  twelve 
at  de  corner  of  de  garden.  An'  jes'  befo'  dat  he  come 
out  ez  he  wuz  gwine  to  bed,  but  instid  he  come,  an' 
we  all  struck  out  to'ds  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's.  When 
we  got  mos'  to  de  gate,  de  hawses  got  sort  o'  skeered, 
an'  I  see  dey  wuz  some'n  or  somebody  standin*  jes' 
inside  ;  an'  Marse  Chan  he  jumpt  off  de  sorrel  an* 
flung  me  de  bridle  and  he  walked  up. 


32  Marse  Chan 


"  She  spoke  fust.  'Twuz  Miss  Anne  had  done 
come  out  dyah  to  meet  Marse  Chan,  an'  she  sez,  jes 
ez  cold  ez  a  chill,  '  Well,  seh,  I  granted  your  favor. 
I  wished  to  reliebe  myse'f  of  de  obligations  you 
placed  me  under  a  few  months  ago,  when  you  made 
me  a  present  of  my  father,  whom  you  fust  insulted 
an'  then  prevented  from  gittin'  satisfaction.' 

"  Marse  Chan  he  didn'  speak  fur  a  minit,  an'  den 
he  said  :  '  Who  is  wid  you  ? '  (Dat  wuz  ev'y  wud.) 

"  'No  one,'  sez  she  ;  '  I  came  alone.' 

<{  (  My  God ! '  sez  he, '  you  didn'  come  all  through 
those  woods  by  yourse'f  at  this  time  o'  night  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  I'm  not  afraid,'  sez  she.  (An'  heah  dis 
nigger  !  I  don'  b'lieve  she  wuz.) 

"  De  moon  come'  out,  an'  I  cotch  sight  on  her 
stan'in  dyah  in  her  white  dress,  wid  de  cloak  she 
done  wrapped  herse'f  up  in  drapped  off  on  de  groun', 
an'  she  didn'  look  like  she  wuz  'feared  o'  nuttin'. 
She  wuz  mons'us  purty  ez  she  stood  dyah  wid  de 
green  bushes  behine  her,  an*  she  hed  jes'  a  few 
flowers  in  her  breas' — right  heah — and  some  leaves 
in  her  sorrel  hyah ;  an'  de  moon  come'  out  an' 
shined  down  on  her  hyah  an'  her  frock,  an'  peared 
like  de  light  wuz  jes'  stan'in  off  it  ez  she  stood  dyah 
lookin'  at  Marse  Chan  wid  her  head  tho'd  back,  jes' 


A  Tale  of  Old,  Virginia  33 

like  dat  mawnin'  when  she  pahss  Marse  Chan  in  de 
road  widout  speakin'  to  'im,  an'  sez  to  me,  '  Good- 
mawnin',  Sam.' 

"  Marse  Chan,  he  den  tole  her  he  hed  come  to  say 
good-by  to  her,  ez  he  wuz  gwine  'way  to  de  war  nex' 
mawnin'.  I  wuz  watchin'  on  her,  an'  I  thought, 
when  Marse  Chan  tole  her  dat,  she  sort  o'  started 
an'  looked  up  at  'im  like  she  wuz  mighty  sorry,  an' 
'peared  like  she  didn'  stan'  quite  so  straight  arfter 
dat.  Den  Marse  Chan  he  went  on  talkin'  right  fars' 
to  her  ;  an'  he  tole  her  how  he  had  loved  her  ever 
sence  she  wuz  a  little  bit  o'  baby  mos',  an'  how  he 
nuver  'membered  de  time  when  he  hedn*  hope'  to 
marry  her.  He  tole  her  it  wuz  his  love  for  her  dat 
hed  made  'im  stan'  fust  at  school  an'  collige,  an'  hed 
kep'  'im  good  an'  pure  ;  an'  now  he  was  gwine  'way, 
wouldn'  she  let  it  be  like  'twuz  in  ole  times,  an'  ef 
he  come  back  from  de  war  wouldn'  she  try  to  think 
on  him  ez  she  use'  to  when  she  wuz  a  little  guirl  ? 

"Marse  Chan  he  had  done  been  talkin'  so  serious, 
he  hed  done  tek  Miss  Anne'  han',  an'  wuz  lookin' 
down  in  her  face  like  he  wuz  list'nin'  wid  he  eyes. 

"  Arfter  a  minit  Miss  Anne  she  said  somethin', 
an'  Marse  Chan  he  cotch  her  urr  han'  an'  sez : 

"  '  But  if  you  love  me,  Anne  ?  * 


34  Marse  Cban 


"  When  he  said  dat,  she  tu'ned  her  head  'way 
from  'im,  an'  wait'  a  minit,  an'  den  she  said — right 
clear : 

"'But  I  don'  love  yo'.  (Jes'  dem  th'ee  wuds !) 
De  wuds  fall  right  slow — like  dirt  falls  out  a  spade 
on  a  coffin  when  yo'  's  buryin'  anybody,  an'  seys, 
'  Uth  to  uth.'  Marse  Chan  he  jes'  let  her  hand  drap, 
an'  he  stiddy  hisse'f  'g'inst  de  gate-pos'  an*  he  didn' 
speak  torekly.  When  he  did  speak,  all  he  sez  wuz : 

"  '  I  mus'  see  yo'  home  safe/ 

"  I  'clar,  marster,  I  didn'  know  'twuz  Marse 
Chan's  voice  tell  I  look  at  'im  right  good.  Well, 
she  wouldn'  let  'im  go  wid  her.  She  jes'  wrap'  her 
cloak  roun'  her  shoulders,  an'  wen'  'long  back  by 
herse'f,  widout  doin'  more'n  jes'  to  look  up  once  at 
Marse  Chan  leanin'  dyah  'g'inst  de  gate-pos'  in  he 
sowger  clo's,  wid  he  eyes  on  de  groun'.  She  said 
*  Good-by '  sort  o'  sorf,  an'  Marse  Chan,  widout 
lookin'  up,  shake  han's  wid  her,  an'  she  wuz  done 
gone  down  de  road.  Soon  ez  she  got  'mos'  'roun  de 
curve,  Marse  Chan  he  followed  her,  keepin'  onder 
de  trees  so  ez  not  to  be  seen,  an'  I  led  de  hawses  on 
down  de  road  behine  'im.  He  kep'  'long  behine  her 
tell  she  wuz  safe  in  de  house,  an'  den  he  come  an' 
got  on  he  haws,  an'  we  all  come  home. 


De  moun  come  onf,  an  I  cotch  sight  on  licr  start  in  dyah  in  he~ 

white  dress." 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  35 

"  Nex'  mawnin'  we  all  went  off  to  j'ine  de  army. 
An'  dey  wuz  a-drillin'  an'  a-drillin'  all  'bout  for  a 
while  an'  we  went  'long  wid  all  de  res'  o'  de  army, 
an'  I  went  wid  Marse  Chan  an'  clean  he  boots  an* 
look  arfter  de  tent,  an'  tek  keer  o'  him  an'  de  hawses. 
An*  Marse  Chan,  he  wan't  a  bit  like  he  use*  to  be,  at 
leas'  'cep'  when  dyah  wuz  gwine  to  be  a  fight.  Den 
he'd  peartin'  up,  an'  he  alwuz  rid  at  de  head  o'  de 
company,  'cause  he  wuz  tall ;  an'  hit  wan'  on'y  in 
battles  whar  all  his  company  wuz  dat  he  went,  but 
he  use'  to  volunteer  whenever  de  cun'l  wanted  any- 
body to  fine  out  anythin',  an'  'twuz  so  dangersome 
he  didn'  like  to  mek  one  man  go  no  sooner'n  anurr, 
yo'  know,  an'  ax'd  who'd  volunteer.  He  'peared  to 
like  to  go  prowlin'  aroun'  'mong  dem  Yankees,  an' 
he  use'  to  tek  me  wid  'im  whenever  he  could.  Yes, 
seh,  he  sut'n'y  wuz  a  good  sowger  !  He  didn'  mine 
bullets  no  more'n  he  did  so  many  draps  o'  rain. 
But  I  tell  you  Sam  use'  to  be  pow'ful  skeered  some- 
times. It  jes*  use'  to  'pear  like  fun  to  him.  In 
camp  he  use'  to  be  so  sorrerful  he'd  hardly  open  he 
mouf.  You'd  a'  tho't  he  wuz  seekin',  he  used  to 
look  so  moanful ;  but  jes'  le'  'im  git  into  danger, 
an'  he  use'  to  be  like  old  times — jolly  an'  laughin' 
like  when  he  wuz  a  boy. 


36  Marse  Chan 


c<  When  Cap'n  Gordon  got  he  leg  shoot  off,  dey 
mek  Marse  Chan  cap'n  on  de  spot,  'cause  one  o'  de 
lieutenants  got  kilt  de  same  day,  an'  turr  one  (named 
Mr.  Ronny)  wan'  no  'count,  an'  all  de  company  said 
Marse  Chan  wuz  de  man. 

"An'  Marse  Chan  he  wuz  jes*  de  same.  He 
didn'  nuver  mention  Miss  Anne's  name,  but  I 
knowed  he  wuz  thinkin'  on  her  constant.  One 
night  he  wuz  settin'  by  de  fire  in  camp,  an'  Mr. 
Ronny — he  wuz  de  secon'  lieutenant — got  to  talkin' 
'bout  ladies,  an'  he  say  all  sorts  o'  things  'bout  'em, 
an'  I  see  Marse  Chan  kinder  lookin'  mad  ;  an'  de 
lieutenant  mention  Miss  Anne's  name.  He  hed 
been  courtin'  Miss  Anne  'bout  de  time  Marse  Chan 
fit  de  duil  wid  her  pa,  an'  Miss  Anne  hed  kicked 
'im,  dough  he  wuz  mighty  rich,  'cause  he  warn'  nut- 
tin'  but  a  half-strainer,  an*  'cause  she  like  Marse 
Chan,  I  believe,  dough  she  didn'  speak  to  'im ;  an' 
Mr.  Ronny  he  got  drunk,  an'  'cause  Cun'l  Chahm- 
b'lin  tole  'im  not  to  come  dyah  no  more,  he  got 
mighty  mad.  An'  dat  evenin'  I'se  tellin'  yo*  'bout, 
he  wuz  talkin'  by  de  camp-fire,  an'  he  mention  Miss 
Anne's  name.  I  see  Marse  Chan  tu'n  he  eye  'roun' 
on  'im  an'  keep  it  on  he  face,  an*  pres'n'y  Mr.  Ron- 
ny said  he  wuz  gwine  git  even  dyah  yit.  He  didn' 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  37 

mention  her  name  dat  time ;  but  he  said  dey  wuz  all 
on  'em  a  parecel  of  stuck-up  'risticrats,  an'  her  pa 

wan'  no  gent'man  anyway,  an' 1  don'  know  what 

he  wuz  gwine  say  (he  nuver  said  it)  ;  fur  ez  he  got 
dat  far  Marse  Chan  riz  up  an'  hit  'im  a  crack,  an'  he 
fall  like  he  hed  been  hit  wid  a  fence-rail.  He  chal- 
lenged Marse  Chan  to  fight  a  duil,  an'  Marse  Chan 
he  excepted  de  challenge,  an'  dey  wuz  gwine  fight ; 
but  some  on  'em  tole  'im  Marse  Chan  wan'  gwine 
mek  a  present  o'  'im  to  his  fam'ly,  an'  he  got  some- 
body to  bre'k  up  de  duil ;  twan'  nuttin'  dough,  but 
he  wuz  'fred  to  fight  Marse  Chan.  An'  purty  soon 
he  lef  de  comp'ny. 

"  Well,  I  got  one  o'  de  gent'mens  to  write  Judy  a 
letter  for  me,  an'  I  tole  her  all  'bout  de  fight,  an' 
how  Marse  Chan  knock'  Mr.  Ronny  over  fur 
speakin'  discontemptuous  o'  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin,  an'  I 
tole  her  how  Marse  Chan  wuz  a-dyin'  fur  love  o' 
Miss  Anne.  An'  Jjidyjshe~€G«Mtr"Te3d"  an*  "sire-had 
to  git  Miss  Anne  to  read  de  letter  fur  her.  Den 
Miss  Anne  she  tells  her  pa,  an' — you  mind,  Judy 
tells  me  all  dis  arfterwards,  an'  she  say  when  Cun'l 
Chahmb'lin  hear  'bout  it,  he  wuz  settin'  on  de  poach, 
an'  he  set  still  a  good  while,  an'  den  he  sey  to  his- 
se'f. 


38  Marse  Cban 

"  '  Well,  he  earn*  hep  bein'  a  Whig.' 

"  An'  den  he  gits  up  an'  walks  up  to  Miss  Anne 
an'  looks  at  her  right  hard ;  an'  Miss  Anne  she  hed 
done  tu'n  away  her  haid  an'  wuz  makin'  out  like  she 
wuz  fixin'  a  rose-bush  'g'inst  de  poach ;  an'  when 
her  pa  kep'  lookin'  at  her,  her  face,  Judy  say,  got 
jes'  de  color  o'  de  roses  on  de  bush,  an'  pres'n'y  her 
pa  sez : 

"'Anne!' 

"  An'  she  tu'ned  roun',  an'  sez  :  '  Sir  ?  *x 

"  An'  he  sez,  '  Do  yo'  want  'im  ? ' 

"An'  she  sez,  'Yes,'  an'  put  her  head  on  he 
shoulder  an'  begin  to  cry  ;  an'  he  sez  : 

"  f  Well,  I  won't  stan'  between  yo'  no  longer. 
Write  to  'im  an'  say  so.' 

"  We  didn'  know  nuttin'  'bout  dis  not  den.  We 
wuz  a-fightin'  an'  a-fightin'  all  dat  time:  an'  come  one 
day  a  letter  to  Marse  Chan,  an'  I  see  'im  start  to 
read  it  in  his  tent  onder  de  cedar  tree,  an'  he  face  hit 
look  so  cu'iousome,  an'  he  han's  trembled  so  I 
couldn'  mek  out  what  wuz  de  motter  wid  'im.  An' 
he  fol'  de  letter  up  an'  wen'  out  an*  wen'  way  down 
'hine  de  camp,  an'  stayed  dyah  'bout  nigh  a  hour. 
Well,  seh,  I  wuz  on  de  lookout  for  'im  when  he 
come  back,  an',  fo'  Gord  !  ef  he  face  didn'  shine 


; Miss  Anne  she  hed done  tun  away  her  hatd." 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  39 

like  a  angel'  !  I  say  to  myse'f,  c  Um'm  !  ef  de 
glory  o'  Gord  ain'  done  shine  on  'im  ! '  An'  what 
yo'  'spose  'twuz  ? 

"  He  tuk  me  wid  'im  dat  evenin',  an'  he  tell  me 
he  hed  done  git  a  letter  from  Miss  Anne,  an'  Marse 
Chan  he  eyes  look'  like  gre't  big  stars,  an'  he  face 
wuz  jes'  like  'twuz  dat  mawnin'  when  de  sun  riz  up 
over  de  low  groun',  an'  I  see  'im  stan'in'  dyah  wid 
de  pistil  in  he  han',  lookin'  at  it,  an'  not  knowin' 
but  what  it  mout  be  de  lars'  time,  an'  he  done  mek 
up  he  mine  not  to  shoot  ole  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin  fur 
Miss  Anne's  sake,  whah  writ  'im  de  letter. 

"  He  fol'  de  letter  wha'  was  in  his  han'  up,  an' 
put  it  in  he  inside  pocket — right  dyah  on  de  lef 
side ;  an'  den  he  tole  me  he  tho't  mebbe  we  wuz 
gwine  hev  some  warm  wuk  in  de  nex'  two  or 
th'ee  days,  an'  arfter  dat  ef  Gord  speared  'im  he'd 
git  a  leave  o'  absence  fur  a  few  days,  an'  we'd  go 
home. 

"  Well,  dat  night  de  orders  come,  an'  we  all  hed 
to  git  over  to'ds  Romney ;  an'  we  rid  all  night  till 
'bout  light ;  an'  we  halted  right  on  a  little  creek,  an' 
we  stayed  dyah  till  mos'  breakfas*  time,  —  but  we 
didn'  had  no  breakfast, — an'  I  see  Marse  Chan  set 
down  on  de  groun'  'hine  a  bush  an'  read  dat  letter 


40  Marse  Cban 

over  an*  over.  I  watch  'im,  an'  de  battle  wuz  a-goin* 
on,  but  we  had  orders  to  stay  'hine  de  hill,  an'  ev'y 
now  an*  den  de  bullets  would  clip  de  limbs  o'  de 
trees  right  over  us,  an*  one  o'  dem  big  shells  what 
goes  '  Awhar — awhar — awhar  is  you! '  would  fall 
right  'mong  us ;  but  Marse  Chan  he  didn'  mine  it 
no  mo'n  nuttin' !  Den  it  'peared  to  git  closer  an' 
thicker,  an'  Marse  Chan  he  calls  me,  an'  I  crep'  up, 
an'  he  sez : 

cc '  Sam,  we'se  goin'  to  win  in  dis  battle,  an'  den 
we'll  go  home  an'  git  married ;  an'  I'm  goin'  home 
wid  a  star  on  my  collar.'  An'  den  he  sez,  '  Ef  I'm 
wounded,  kyah  me  home,  yo'  hear  ? '  An'  I  sez, 
'  Yes,  Marse  Chan.' 

"  Well,  jes'  den  dey  blowed  '  boots  an'  saddles,' 
an'  we  mounted ;  an'  de  orders  come  to  ride  'roun' 
de  slope,  an'  Marse  Chan's  comp'ny  wuz  de  secon', 
an'  when  we  got  'roun'  dyah,  we  wuz  right  in  it 
Hit  wuz  de  wust  place  uver  dis  nigger  got -ia--!  An' 
dey  said,  '  Charge  'em  !  '  an'  my  king !  ef  uver  you 
see  bullets  fly,  dey  did  dat  day.  Hit  wuz  jes'  like 
hail ;  an'  we  wen'  down  de  slope  (I  'long  wid  de 
res')  an'  up  de  hill  right  to'ds  de  cannons,  an'  de  fire 
wuz  so  strong  dyah  (dey  hed  a  whole  rigiment  o'  in- 
fintrys  layin*  down  dyah  onder  de  guns)  our  lines 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  41 

sort  o'  broke  an'  stop ;  an'  de  cun'l  was  kilt,  an'  I 
b'lieve  dey  wuz  jes'  'bout  to  bre'k  all  to  pieces,  when 

Margp  Thqii  rir|  np  'an  rntrh  holt  de  fleg  and  hoH^rs, 

'  Fol|er  meJ  '  an'  rid  strainin'  up  de  hill  'mong  -de 
cajrmons.  I  seen  'im  when  he  went,  de  sorrel  four 
good  lengths  ahead  o'  ev'y  urr  hoss,  jes'  like  he  use' 
to  be  in  a  fox-hunt,  an*  de  whole  rigiment  clamorin' 
right  arfter  'im.  Yo'  ain'  nuver  heah  thunder ! 
Fust  thing  I  knowed,  de  roan  roll'  head  over  heels 
an'  flung  me  up  'g'inst  de  bank  like  yo'  chuck  a 
nubbin  over  'g'inst  de  foot  o'  de  corn  pile.  An 
dat's  what  kep'  me  from  bein'  kilt,  I  'spects.  Judy 
she  say  she  thinks  twuz  Providence,  but  I  thinks 
'twuz  de  bank.  In  co'se,  Providence  put  de  bank 
dyah,  but  how  come  Providence  nuver  saved  Marse 
Chan  ?  When  I  look  'roun',  de  roan  wuz  layin' 
dyah  by  me,  stone  dead,  wid  a  cannon-ball  gone 
'mos'  th'oo  him,  an'  our  men  hed  done  swep'  dem  on 
t'urr  side  from  de  top  o'  de  hill.  'Twan  mo'n  a 
minit,  de  sorrel  come  gallupin'  back  wid  his  mane 
flyin',  an*  de  rein  hangin'  down  on  one  side  to  his 
knee.  '  Dyah ! '  says  I,  '  fo'  Gord !  I  'specks  dey 
done  kill  Marse  Chan,  an'  I  promised  to  tek  care  on 
him/ 

"I  jumped  up  an'  run  over  de  bank,  an'  dyah, 


42  Marse  Chan 

wid  a  whole  lot  o'  dead  mens,  an'  some  not  dead 
yit,  onder  one  o'  de  guns  wid  de  fleg  still  in  he  han', 
an'  a  bullet  right  th'oo  he  body,  lay  Marse  Chan.  I 
tu'n  'im  over  an*  call  'im,  '  Marse  Chan  ! '  but  'twan' 
no  use,  he  wuz  done  gone  home,  sho*  'nuff. 

"  I  pick'  'im  up  in  my  arms  wid  de  fleg  still  in  he 
han',  an'  toted  'im  back  jes'  like  I  did  dat  day  when 
he  wuz  a  baby,  an'  ole  marster  gin'  'im  to  me  in  my 
arms,  an'  sey  he  could  trus'  me,  an'  tell  me  to  tek 
keer  on  'im  long  ez  he  lived.  I  kyah'd  'im  'way 
off  de  battlefiel'  out  de  way  o'  de  balls,  an'  I  laid  'im 
down  onder  a  big  tree  till  I  could  git  somebody  to 
ketch  de  sorrel  for  me.  He  was  cotched  arfter  a 
while,  an*  I  hed  some  money,  so  I  got  some  pine 
plank  an'  made  a  coffin  dat  evenin',  an'  wrapt  Marse 
Chan's  body  up  in  de  fleg,  an'  put  'im  in  de  coffin ; 
but  I  didn'  nail  de  top  on  strong,  'cause  I  knowed 
ole  missis'  wan'  see  'im  ;  an'  I  got  a'  ambulance 
an'  set  out  for  home  dat  night.  We  reached  dyah 
de  nex'  evein',  arfter  travellin'  all  dat  night  an'  all 
nex'  day. 

"  Hit  'peared  like  somethin'  hed  tole  ole  missis 
we  wuz  comin'  so  ;  for  when  we  got  home  she  wuz 
waitin'  for  us — done  drest  up  in  her  best  Sunday- 
clo'es,  an'  stan'n'  at  de  head  o'  de  big  steps,  an'  ole 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  43 

marster  settin'  dyah  bline  in  his  big  cheer  —  ez  we 
druv  up  de  hill  to'ds  de  house,  I  drivin'  de  ambulance 
an'  de  sorrel  leadin'  long  behine  wid  de  stirrups  crost 
over  de  saddle. 

"  She  come  down  to  de  gate  to  meet  us.  We 
took  de  coffin  out  de  ambulance  an'  kyah'd  it  right 
into  de  big  parlor  wid  de  pictures  in  it,  whar  dey 
use'  to  dance  in  ole  times  when  Marse  Chan  wuz  a 
schoolboy,  an'  Miss  Anne  Chahmb'lin  use'  to  come 
over,  an'  go  wid  ole  missis  into  her  chamber  an'  tek 
her  things  off.  In  dyah  we  laid  de  coffin  on  two  o' 
de  cheers,  an'  ole  missis  nuver  said  a  wud  ;  she  jes' 
looked  so  ole  an'  white. 

"  When  I  had  tell  'em  all  'bout  it,  I  tu'ned  right 
'roun'  an'  rid  over  to  Cun'l  Chahmb'lin's,  'cause  I 
knowed  dat  wuz  what  Marse  Chan  he'd  'a'  wanted 
me  to  do.  I  didn'  tell  nobody  whar  I  was  gwine, 
'cause  yo'  know,  none  on  'em  hadn'  nuver  speak  to 
Miss  Anne,  not  sence  de  duil,  an'  dey  didn'  know 
'bout  de  letter. 

"  When  I  rid  up  in  de  yard,  dyah  wuz  Miss  Anne 
a-stan'in'  on  de  poach  watchin'  me  ez  I  rid  up.  I 
tied  my  hoss  to  de  fence,  an'  walked  up  de  parf! 
She  knowed  by  de  way  I  walked  dyah  wuz  som'thin' 
de  motter,  an*  she  wuz  mighty  pale.  I  drapt  my 


44  Marse  Cban 


cap  down  on  de  een'  o'  de  steps  an'  went  up.  She 
nuver  opened  her  mouf;  jes'  stan'  right  still  an' 
keep  her  eyes  on  my  face.  Fust,  I  couldn'  speak  ; 
den  I  cotch  my  voice,  an'  I  say,  '  Marse  Chan,  he 
done  got  he  furlough.' 

"  Her  face  was  mighty  ashy,  an'  she  sort  o'  shook, 
but  she  didn'  fall.  She  tu'ned  roun'  an'  said,  '  Git 
me  de  ker'ige  ! '  Dat  wuz  all. 

"When  de  ker'ige  come  roun'  she  hed  put  on 
her  bonnet,  an'  wuz  ready.  Ez  she  got  in,  she  sey 
to  me,  '  Hev  yo'  brought  him  home  ? '  an'  we  drove 
'long,  I  ridin'  behine. 

"  When  we  got  home,  she  got  out,  an'  walked  up 
de  big  walk — up  to  de  poach  by  herse'f. 

"Ole  missis  hed  done  fin'  de  letter  in  Marse 
Chan's  pocket,  wid  de  love  in  it,  while  I  wuz  'way, 
an'  she  wuz  a-waitin'  on  de  poach.  Dey  sey  dat  wuz 
de  fust  time  ole  missis  cry  when  she  fin'  de  letter, 
an'  dat  she  sut'n'y  did  cry  over  hit,  pintedly. 

"Well,  seh,  Miss  Anne  she  walks  right  up  de 
steps,  mos'  up  to  ole  missis  stan'in'  dyah  on  de 
poach,  an'  jes'  falls  right  down  mos'  to  her,  on  her 
knees  fust,  an'  den  flat  on  her  face  right  on  de 
flo',  ketchin'  at  ole  missis'  dress  wid  her  two  han's 
— so. 


"  /  see  Marse  Chan  read  dat  letter  over  an  over" 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  45 

"  Ole  missis  stood  for  'bout  a  minit  lookin'  down 
at  her,  an'  den  she  drapt  down  on  de  flo'  by  her,  an' 
took  her  in  bofe  her  arms. 

"  I  couldn'  see,  I  wuz  cryin'  so  myse'f,  an'  ev'y- 
body  wuz  cryin'.  But  dey  went  in  arfter  a  while  in 
de  parlor,  an'  shet  de  do' ;  an'  I  heahd  'em  say, 
Miss  Anne  she  tuk  de  coffin  in  her  arms  an'  kissed 
it,  an'  kissed  Marse  Chan,  an'  call'  'im  by  his  name, 
an'  her  darlin',  an'  ole  missis  leP  her  cryin'  in  dyah 
tell  some  on  'em  went  in,  an'  found  her  done  faint 
on  de  flo'. 

u  Judy  she  tell  me  she  heah  Miss  Anne  when  she 
axed  ole  missis  mout  she  wear  mo'nin'  fur  'im.  I 
don'  know  how  dat  is  ;  but  when  we  buried  'im 
nex'  day,  she  wuz  de  one  whar  walked  arfter  de  cof- 
fin, holdin'  ole  marster,  an'  ole  missis  she  walked 
next  to  'em. 

"  Well,  we  buried  Marse  Chan  dyah  in  de  ole 
grabeyard,  wid  de  fleg  wrapped  roun'  'im,  an'  he 
face  lookin'  like  it  did  dat  mawnin'  down  in  de 
low  groun's,  wid  de  new  sun  shinin'  on  it  so  peace- 
ful. 

"  Miss  Anne  she  nuver  went  home  to  stay  arfter 
dat;  she  stay  wid  ole  marster  an'  ole  missis  ez  long 
ez  dey  lived.  Dat  warn*  so  mighty  long,  'cause  ole 


46  Mane  Cban 


marster  he  died  dat  Fall,  when  dey  wuz  fallerin'  fur 
wheat — I  had  jes'  married  den — an'  ole  missis  she 
warn'  long  behine  him.  We  buried  her  by  him  next 
summer.  Miss  Anne  she  went  in  de  hospitals  to- 
reckly  after  ole  missis  died  ;  an'  jes  b'fo'  Richmond 
fall  she  come  home  sick  wid  de  fever.  Yo'  nuver 
wud  'a'  knowed  her  fur  de  same  ole  Miss  Anne. 
She  wuz  light  ez  a  piece  o'  peth,  an'  so  white,  'cep' 
her  eyes  an*  her  sorrel  hyah,  an*  she  kep'  on  gittin' 
whiter  an'  weaker.  Judy  sh«^aqt*n*y  dffi  flffss  her 
faithful.  But  she  nuver  got  no  betterment !  De 
fever  an'  Marse  Chan's  bein'  kilt  dataway  hed  done 
strain  her,  an'  she  died  jes'  fo'  de  folks  wuz  sot 
free. 

"  So  we  buried  Miss  Anne  right  by  Marse  Chan, 
in  a  place  whar  ole  missis  hed  tole  us  to  leave,  an' 
dey's  bofe  on  'em  sleep  side  by  side  over  in  de  ole 
grabeyard  at  home  now. 

"  An'  will  yo'  please  tell  me,  marster  ?  Dey  tells 
me  dat  de  Bible  sey  dyah  won*  be  marryin'  nor  givin' 
in  marriage  in  heaven,  but  I  don'  b'lieve  it  signifies 
dat — does  you  ?  " 

I  gave  him  the  comfort  of  my  earnest  belief  in 
some  other  interpretation,  together  with  several 
spare  "  eighteen-pences,"  as  he  called  them,  for 


A  Tale  of  Old  Virginia  47 

which  he  seemed  humbly  grateful.  And  as  I  rode 
away  I  heard  him  calling  across  the  fence  to  his  wife, 
who  was  standing  in  the  door  of  a  small  whitewashed 
cabin,  near  which  we  had  been  standing  for  some 
time  : 

"  Judy,  have  Marse  Chan's  dawg  got  home  ?  " 


UNC'    EDINBURG 


UNC'  EDINBURG 

A  Plantation  Echo 

"  "\  "T  TELL,  suh,  dat's  a  fac — dat's  what  Marse 
\/\/  George  al'ays  said.  'Tis  hard  to  spile 
Christmas  anyways." 

The  speaker  was  "  Unc'  Edinburg,"  the  driver  from 
Werrowcoke,  where  I  was  going  to  spend  Christmas ; 
the  time  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  place  the  mud- 
diest road  in  eastern  Virginia — a  measure  which,  I  feel 
sure,  will,  to  those  who  have  any  experience,  establish 
its  claim  to  distinction. 

A  half-hour  before  he  had  met  me  at  the  station, 
the  queerest-looking,  raggedest  old  darkey  conceivable, 
brandishing  a  cedar-staffed  whip  of  enormous  propor- 
tions in  one  hand,  and  clutching  in  the  other  a  calico 
letter-bag  with  a  twisted  string ;  and  with  the  excep- 


52  "Unc   EdMurg" 

tion  of  a  brief  interval  of  temporary  suspicion  on  his 
part,  due  to  the  unfortunate  fact  that  my  luggage 
consisted  of  only  a  hand-satchel  instead  of  a  trunk,  we 
had  been  steadily  progressing  in  mutual  esteem. 

"Dee's  a  boy  standin'  by  my  mules;  I  got  de 
ker'idge  heah  for  you,"  had  been  his  first  remark  on 
my  making  myself  known  to  him.  "  Mistis  say  as 
how  you  might  bring  a  trunk." 

I  at  once  saw  my  danger,  and  muttered  something 
about  "  a  short  visit,"  but  this  only  made  matters 
worse. 

"  Dee  don'  nobody  nuver  pay  short  visits  dyah,"  he 
said,  decisively,  and  I  fell  to  other  tactics. 

"You  couldn'  spile  Christmas  den  noways,"  h- 
repeated,  reflectingly,  while  his  little  mules  trudged 
knee-deep  through  the  mud.  "  Twuz  Christmas  den, 
sho'  'nough,"  he  added,  the  fires  of  memory  smoulder- 
ing, and  then,  as  they  blazed  into  sudden  flame,  he 
asserted,  positively :  "  Dese  heah  free-issue  niggers 
don'  know  what  Christmas  is.  Hawg  meat  an'  pop 
crackers  don'  meek  Christmas.  Hit  tecks  ole  times 
to  meek  a  sho'  -  'nough,  tyahin'  -  down  Christmas. 
Gord !  I's  seen  'em  !  But  de  wuss  Christmas  I  ever 
seen  tunned  out  de  best  in  de  een,"  he  added,  with 
sudden  warmth,  "an*  dat  wuz  de  Christmas  me  an' 


"UnS  Edinburgfl  53 

Marse  George  an'  Reveller  all  got  drownded  down  at 
Braxton's  Creek.  You's  hearn  'bout  dat  ?  " 

As  he  was  sitting  beside  me  in  solid  flesh  and  blood, 
and  looked  as  little  ethereal  in  his  old  hat  and  patched 
clothes  as  an  old  oak  stump  would  have  done,  and  as 
Colonel  Staunton  had  made  a  world-wide  reputation 
when  he  led  his  regiment  through  the  Chickahom- 
iny  thickets  against  McClellan's  intrenchments,  I  was 
forced  to  confess  that  I  had  never  been  so  favored, 
but  would  like  to  hear  about  it  now ;  and  with  a  hitch 
of  the  lap  blanket  under  his  outside  knee,  and  a  su- 
pererogatory jerk  of  the  reins,  he  began : 

"  Well,  you  know,  Marse  George  was  jes'  eighteen 
when  he  went  to  college.  I  went  wid  him,  'cause  me 
an'  him  wuz  de  same  age ;  I  was  born  like  on  a 
Sat'day  in  de  Christmas,  an'  he  wuz  born  in  de  new 
year  on  a  Chuesday,  an'  my  mammy  nussed  us  bofe  at 
one  breast.  Dat's  de  reason  maybe  huccome  we  took 
so  to  one  nurr.  He  sutney  set  a  heap  o'  sto'  by  me  ; 
an'  I  ain'  nuver  see  nobody  yit  wuz  good  to  me  as 
Marse  George." 

The  old  fellow,  after  a  short  reverie,  went  on : 

"Well,  we  growed  up  togerr,  jes  as  to  say  two 
stalks  in  one  hill.  We  cotch  ole  hyahs  togerr,  an'  we 
hunted  'possums  togerr,  an'  'coons.  Lord  !  he  wuz  a 


54  "Unc'  Edinburg" 

climber!  I  'member  a  fight  he  had  one  night  up  in 
de  ve'y  top  of  a  big  poplar  tree  wid  a  coon,  whar  he 
done  gone  up  after,  an'  he  flung  he  hat  over  he  head  ; 
an'  do'  de  varmint  leetle  mo'  tyah  him  all  to  pieces, 
he  fotch  him  down  dat  tree  'live  ;  an'  me  an'  him  had 
him  at  Christmas.  'Coon  meat  mighty  good  when 
dee  fat,  you  know  ?  " 

As  this  was  a  direct  request  for  my  judgment,  I 
did  not  have  the  moral  courage  to  raise  an  issue,  al- 
though my  views  on  the  subject  of  'coon  meat  are  well 
known  to  my  family ;  so  I  grunted  something  which 
I  doubt  not  he  took  for  assent,  and  he  proceeded : 

"Dee  warn'  nuttin  he  didn'  lead  de  row  in;  he 
wuz  de  bes'  swimmer  I  ever  see,  an'  he  handled  a 
skiff  same  as  a  fish  handle  heself.  An'  I  wuz  wid  him 
constant;  wharever  you  see  Marse  George,  dyah 
Edinburg  sho',  jes'  like  he  shadow.  So  twuz,  when 
he  went  to  de  university ;  'twarn'  nuttin  would  do  but 
I  got  to  go  too.  Marster  he  didn'  teck  much  to  de 
notion,  but  Marse  George  wouldn'  have  it  no  urr  way, 
an'  co'se  mistis  she  teck  he  side.  So  I  went  'long  as 
he  body-servant  to  teck  keer  on  him  an'  help  meek 
him  a  gent'man.  An'  he  wuz,  too.  From  time  he 
got  dyah  tell  he  cum  'way  he  wuz  de  head  man. 

"  Dee  warn'  but  one  man  dyah   didn'  compliment 


"Unc   Edinburgfi  55 

him,  an'  dat  wuz  Mr.  Darker.  But  he  warn'  mittin  ! 
not  dat  he  didn'  come  o'  right  good  fambly — 'cep'  dee 
politics ;  but  he  wuz  sutney  pitted,  jes'  like  sometimes 
you  see  a  weevly  runty  pig  in  a  right  good  litter. 
Well,  Mr.  Darker  he  al'ays  'ginst  Marse  George ;  he 
hate  me  and  him  bofe,  an'  he  sutney  act  mischeevous 
todes  us ;  'cause  he  know  he  warn'  as  we  all.  De 
Stauntons  dee  wuz  de  popularitiest  folks  in  Virginia ; 
an'  dee  wuz  high-larnt  besides.  So  when  Marse  George 
run  for  de  medal,  an'  wuz  to  meek  he  gret  speech, 
Mr.  Darker  he  speak  'ginst  him.  Dat's  what  Marse 
George  whip  him  'bout.  'Ain'  nobody  nuver  told  you 
'bout  dat?" 

I  again  avowed  my  misfortune;  and  although  it 
manifestly  aroused  new  doubts,  he  worked  it  off  on 
the  mules,  and  once  more  took  up  his  story : 

"  Well,  you  know,  dee  had  been  speakin'  'ginst  one 
nurr  ev'y  Sat'dy  night ;  and  ev'ybody  knowed  Marse 
George  wuz  de  bes'  speaker,  but  dee  give  him  one 
mo'  sho',  an'  dee  was  bofe  gwine  spread  deeselves,  an' 
dee  wuz  two  urr  gent'mens  also  gwine  speak.  An' 
dat  night  when  Mr.  Darker  got  up  he  meek  sich  a 
fine  speech  ev'ybody  wuz  s'prised ;  an'  some  on  'em 
say  Mr.  Darker  done  beat  Marse  George.  But,  shuh ! 
I  know  better'n  dat ;  an'  Marse  George  face  look  so 


56  "Unc'  Edinburg'' 

curious ;  but,  suh,  when  he  riz  I  knowed  der  wuz 
somen  gwine  happen — I  wuz  leanin'  in  de  winder. 
He  jes  step  out  in  front  an'  throwed  up  he  head  like 
a  horse  wid  a  rank  kyurb  on  him,  and  den  he  begin ; 
an'  twuz  jes  like  de  river  when  hit  gits  out  he  bank. 
He  swep'  ev'ything.  When  he  fust  open  he  mouf  I 
knowed  twuz  comin' ;  he  face  wuz  pale,  an'  he  wuds 
tremble  like  a  fiddle-string,  but  he  eyes  wuz  blazin', 
an'  in  a  minute  he  wuz  jes  reshin'.  He  voice  soun' 
like  a  bell ;  an'  he  jes  wallered  dat  turr  man,  an' 
wared  him  out ;  an'  when  he  set  down  dee  all  yelled 
an'  hollered  so  you  couldn'  heah  you'  ears.  Gent'- 
mans,  twuz  royal ! 

"  Den  dee  tuck  de  vote,  an'  Marse  George  got  it 
munanimous,  an'  dee  all  hollered  agin,  all  'cep'  a  few  o' 
Mr.  Barker's  friends.  An'  Mr.  Darker  he  wuz  de 
second.  An'  den  dee  broke  up.  An'  jes  den  Marse 
George  walked  thoo  de  crowd  straight  up  to  him, 
an'  lookin'  him  right  in  de  eyes,  says  to  him,  '  You 
stole  dat  speech  you  made  to-night.'  Well,  suh, 
you  ought  to  'a  hearn  'em ;  hit  soun'  like  a  mill- 
dam.  You  couldn'  heah  nuttin  'cep'  roarin',  an'  you 
couldn'  see  nuttin  'cep'  shovin'.  But,  big  as  he  wuz, 
Marse  George  beat  him ;  an'  when  dee  pull  him  off, 
do'  he  face  wuz  mighty  pale,  he  stan'  out  befo'  'em  all, 


"Unc   Edinburg"  57 

dem  whar  wuz  'ginst  him,  an'  all,  jes  as  straight  as  an 
arrow,  an*  say :  *  Dat  speech  wuz  written  an'  printed 
years  ago  by  somebody  or  nurr  in  Congress,  an'  this 
man  stole  it ;  had  he  beat  me  only,  I  should  not  have 
said  one  word ;  but  as  he  has  beaten  others,  I  shall 
show  him  up ! '  Gord,  suh,  he  voice  wuz  clear  as  a 
game  rooster.  I  sutney  wuz  proud  on  him. 

"  He  did  show  him  up,  too,  but  Mr.  Darker  ain' 
wait  to  see  it ;  he  lef '  dat  night.  An'  Marse  George 
he  wuz  de  popularitiest  gent'man  at  dat  university. 
He  could  handle  dem  students  dyah  same  as  a  man 
handle  a  hoe. 

"  Well,  twuz  de  next  Christmas  we  meet  Miss 
Charlotte  an'  Nancy.  Mr.  Braxton  invite  we  all  to 
go  down  to  spen'  Christmas  wid  him  at  he  home. 
An'  sich  a  time  as  we  had ! 

"We  got  dyah  Christmas  Eve  night  —  dis  very 
night — jes  befo'  supper,  an'  jes  natchelly  froze  to 
death,"  he  pursued,  dealing  in  his  wonted  hyperbole, 
"an'  we  jes  had  time  to  git  a  apple  toddy  or  two 
when  supper  was  ready,  an'  wud  come  dat  dee  wuz 
waitin'  in  de  hall.  I  had  done  fix  Marse  George  up 
gorgeousome,  I  tell  you ;  an  when  he  walk  down 
dem  stairs  in  dat  swaller-tail  coat,  an'  dem  paten'- 
leather  pumps  on,  dee  warn  nay  one  dyah  could  tetch 


5«  "Unc'  Edinburg" 

him ;  he  looked  like  he  own  'em  all.  I  jes  rest  my 
mind.  I  seen  him  when  he  shake  hands  wid  'em  all 
roun',  an'  I  say,  '  Um-m-m !  he  got  'em.' 

"  But  he  ain'  teck  noticement  o'  none  much  tell 
Miss  Charlotte  come.  She  didn'  live  dyah,  had  jes 
come  over  de  river  dat  evenin'  from  her  home,  'bout 
ten  miles  off,  to  spen'  Christmas  like  we  all,  an'  she 
come  down  de  stairs  jes  as  Marse  George  finish  shakin' 
hands.  I  seen  he  eye  light  on  her  as  she  come  down 
de  steps  smilin',  wid  her  dim  blue  dress  trainin'  be- 
hind her,  an'  her  little  blue  foots  peepin'  out  so  pretty, 
an'  holdin'  a  little  hankcher,  lookin'  like  a  spider- 
web,  in  one  hand,  an'  a  gret  blue  fan  in  turr,  spread 
out  like  a  peacock  tail,  an'  jes  her  roun'  arms  an' 
th'oat  white,  an'  her  gret  dark  eyes  lightin'  up  her 
face.  I  say,  '  Dyah  'tis ! '  and  when  de  ole  Cun'l  stan' 
aside  an'  interduce  'em,  and  Marse  George  step  for'ard 
an'  meek  he  grand  bow,  an'  she  sort  o'  swing  back  an' 
gin  her  curtchy,  wid  her  dress  sort  o'  dammed  up 
'ginst  her,  an'  her  arms  so  white,  an'  her  face  sort  o' 
sunsetty,  I  say,  *  Yes,  Lord !  Edinburg,  dyah  you 
mistis.'  Marse  George  look  like  he  think  she  done 
come  down  right  from  de  top  o'  de  blue  sky  an'  bring 
piece  on  it  wid  her.  He  ain'  nuver  took  he  eyes 
from  her  dat  night.  Dee  glued  to  her,  mun !  an'  she 


"  T seen  he  eye  light  on  her  as  she  came  down  the  steps  smilin\" 


"  Unc   EdMurg"  59 

— well,  do'  she  mighty  rosy,  an'  look  mighty  uncon- 
sarned,  she  sutney  ain'  hender  him.  Hit  look  like 
kyarn  nobody  else  tote  dat  fan  an'  pick  up  dat  hank- 
cher  skusin  o'  him;  an'  after  supper,  when  dee  all 
playin'  blind-man's-buff  in  de  hall  —  I  don'  know 
how  twuz — but  do'  she  jes  as  nimble  as  a  filly,  an' 
her  ankle  jes  as  clean,  an'  she  kin  git  up  her  dress  an' 
dodge  out  o'  de  way  o'  ev'ybody  else,  somehow  or 
nurr  she  kyarn  help  him  ketchin'  her  to  save  her  life ; 
he  al'ays  got  her  corndered;  an'  when  dee'd  git  fur 
apart,  dat  ain'  nuttin,  dee  jes  as  sure  to  come  togerr 
agin  as  water  is  whar  you  done  run  you  hand  thoo. 
An'  do'  he  kiss  ev'ybody  else  under  de  mistletow, 
'cause  dee  be  sort  o'  cousins,  he  ain'  nuver  kiss  her, 
nor  nobody  else  ain't  nurr,  'cep'  de  ole  Cun'l.  I  wuz 
standin'  down  at  de  een  de  hall  wid  de  black  folks, 
an'  I  notice  it  'tic'lar,  'cause  I  done  meek  de  'quaint- 
ance  o'  Nancy;  she  wuz  Miss  Charlotte's  maid;  a 
mighty  likely  young  gal  she  wuz  den,  an'  jes  as  impi- 
dent  as  a  fly.  She  see  it  too,  do'  she  ain'  'low  it. 

"  Fust  thing  I  know  I  seen  a  mighty  likely  light- 
skinned  gal  standin'  dyah  by  me,  wid  her  hyah  mos' 
straight  as  white  folks,  an'  a  mighty  good  frock  on, 
an'  a  clean  apron,  an'  her  hand  mos'  like  a  lady,  only 
it  brown,  an'  she  keep  on  'vidin'  her  eyes  twix  me  an' 


60  "  Unc   Edinburg" 

Miss  Charlotte ;  when  I  watchin'  Miss  Charlotte  she 
watchin'  me,  an'  when  I  steal  my  eye  'roun'  on  her 
she  noticin'  Miss  Charlotte ;  an'  presney  I  sort  o'  sidle 
'longside  her,  an'  I  say,  'Lady,  you  mighty  sprightly 
to-night.'  An'  she  say  she  'bleeged  to  be  sprightly, 
her  mistis  look  so  good;  an'  I  ax  her  which  one 
twuz,  an'  she  tell  me,  '  Dat  queen  one  over  dyah,'  an* 
I  tell  her  dee's  a  king  dyah  too,  she  got  her  eye  set 
for ;  an'  when  I  say  her  mistis  tryin'  to  set  her  cap  for 
Marse  George,  she  fly  up,  an'  say  she  an'  her  mistis 
don'  have  to  set  dee  cap  for  nobody ;  dee  got  to  set 
dee  cap  an'  all  dee  clo'es  for  dem,  an*  den  dee  ain' 
gwine  cotch  'em  cause  dee  ain'  studyin'  'bout  no 
up-country  folks  whar  dee  ain'  nobody  know  nuttin 
'bout. 

"  Well,  dat  oudaciousness  so  aggrivate  me,  I  lite 
into  dat  nigger  right  dyah.  I  tell  her  she  ain'  been 
nowhar  'tall  ef  she  don'  know  we  all ;  dat  we  wuz  de 
bes'  of  quality,  de  ve'y  top  de  pot;  an'  den  I  tell  her 
'bout  how  gret  we  wuz ;  how  de  ker'idges  wuz  al'ays 
hitched  up  night  an'  day,  an'  niggers  jes  thick  as 
weeds;  an'  how  Unc'  Torm  he  wared  he  swaller-tail 
ev'y  day  when  he  wait  on  de  table;  and  Marse 
George  he  won*  wyah  a  coat  mo'n  once  or  twice  any- 
ways, to  save  you  life.  Oh !  I  sutney  'stonish  dat 


"  Unc  Edinburg''  61 

nigger,  'cause  I  wuz  teckin  up  for  de  fambly,  an'  I 
meek  out  like  dee  use  gold  up  home  like  urr  folks 
use  wood,  an'  sow  silver  like  urr  folks  sow  wheat ;  an' 
when  I  got  thoo  dee  wuz  all  on  'em  listenin',  an'  she 
'lowed  dat  Marse  George  he  were  ve'y  good,  sho 
'nough,  'ef  twarn  for  he  nigger;  but  I  ain'  tarrifyin' 
myself  none  'bout  dat,  'cause  I  know  she  jes  projickin, 
an'  she  couldn'  help  bein'  impident  ef  you  wuz  to 
whup  de  frock  off  her  back. 

"  Jes  den  dee  struck  up  de  dance.  Dee  had  wheel 
de  pianer  out  in  de  hall,  an'  somebody  say  Jack  For- 
ester had  come  cross  de  river,  an'  all  on  'em  say  dee 
mus'  git  Jack ;  an*  presney  he  come  in  wid  he  fiddle, 
grinnin'  and  scrapin',  'cause  he  wuz  a  notable  fiddler, 
do'  I  don'  think  he  wuz  equal  to  we  all's  Tubal,  an' 
I  know  he  couldn'  tech  Marse  George,  'cause  Marse 
George  wuz  a  natchel  fiddler,  jes  like  'coons  is  natchel 
pacers,  an'  mules  an'  womens  is  natchel  kickers.  How- 
somever,  he  sutney  jucked  a  jig  sweet,  an'  when  he 
shake  dat  bow  you  couldn'  help  you  foot  switchin' 
a  leetle — not  ef  you  wuz  a  member  of  de  chutch.  He 
wuz  a  mighty  sinful  man,  Jack  wuz,  an'  dat  fiddle 
had  done  drawed  many  souls  to  torment. 

"  Well,  in  a  minute  dee  wuz  all  flyin',  an'  Jack  he 
wuz  rockin'  like  boat  rockin'  on  de  water,  an'  he  face 


62  "Unc*  Edinburg" 

right  shiny,  an'  he  teef  look  like  ear  o'  com  he  got  in 
he  mouf,  an'  he  big  foot  set  way  out  keepin'  time,  an' 
Marse  George  he  was  in  de  lead  row  dyah  too ;  ev'y 
chance  he  git  he  tunned  Miss  Charlotte — 'petchel  mo- 
tion, right  hand  across,  an'  cauliflower,  an'  croquette — 
dee  croquette  plenty  o'  urrs,  but  I  notice  dee  ain'  nuver 
fail  to  tun  one  nurr,  an'  ev'y  tun  he  gin  she  wrappin' 
de  chain  roun'  him.  Once  when  dee  wuz  '  prominadin- 
all '  down  we  all's  een  o'  de  hall,  as  he  tunned  her  some- 
body step  on  her  dress  an'  to'  it.  I  heah  de  screech  o' 
de  silk,  an'  Nancy  say,  '  O  Lord  ! '  den  she  say,  4  Nem 
mine !  now  I'll  git  it ! '  an'  dee  stop  for  a  minute  for 
Marse  George  to  pin  't  up,  while  turrers  went  on,  an' 
Marse  George  wuz  down  on  he  knee,  an'  she  look 
down  on  him  mighty  sweet  out  her  eyes,  an'  say, 
'  Hit  don'  meek  no  difference,'  an'  he  glance  up  an' 
cotch  her  eye,  an',  jes  'dout  a  wud,  he  tyah  a  gret 
piece  right  out  de  silk  an'  slipt  it  in  he  bosom,  an* 
when  he  got  up,  he  say,  right  low,  lookin'  in  her  eyes 
real  deep,  '  I  gwine  wyah  dis  at  my  weddin','  an'  she 
jes  look  sweet  as  candy ;  an'  ef  Nancy  ever  wyah  dat 
frock  I  ain'  see  it. 

"  Den  presney  dee  wuz  talkin'  'bout  stoppin'.  De 
ole  Cun'l  say  hit  time  to  have  prars,  an'  dee  wuz  beg- 
gin'  him  to  wait  a  leetle  while  ;  an'  Jack  Forester  lay 


"Unc'  Edinburg"  63 

he  fiddle  down  nigh  Marse  George,  an'  he  picked  't 
up  an'  drawed  de  bow  'cross  it  jes  to  try  it,  an'  den 
jes  projickin'  he  struck  dat  chune  'bout  '  You'll  er- 
member  me.'  He  hadn'  mo'n  tech  de  string  when 
you  couldn'  heah  a  pin  drap.  Marse  George  he  warn 
noticin',  an'  he  jes  lay  he  face  on  de  fiddle,  wid  he 
eyes  sort  o'  half  shet,  an'  drawed  her  out  like  he'd  do 
some  nights  at  home  in  dee  moonlight  on  de  gret 
porch,  tell  on  a  sudden  he  looked  up  an'  cotch  Miss 
Charlotte  eye  leanin'  for'ards  so  earnest,  an'  all  on  'em 
list'nin',  an'  he  stopt,  an'  dee  all  clapt  dee  hands,  an' 
he  sudney  drapt  into  a  jig.  Jack  Forester  ain'  had  to 
play  no  mo'  dat  night.  Even  de  ole  Cun'l  ketched 
de  fever,  an'  he  stept  out  in  de  flo'  in  he  long-tail 
coat  an'  high  collar,  an'  knocked  'em  off  de  '  Snow- 
bud  on  de  Ash-bank,'  an'  *  Chicken  in  de  Bread-tray,' 
right  natchel. 

"  Oh,  he  could  jes  plank  'em  down ! 

"  Oh,  dat  wuz  a  Christmas  like  you  been  read 
'bout !  An'  twuz  hard  to  tell  which  gittin  cotch  most, 
Marse  George  or  me ;  'cause  dat  nigger  she  jes  as  con- 
fusin'  as  Miss  Charlotte.  An'  she  sutney  wuz  sp'ilt 
dem  days;  ev'y  nigger  on  dat  place  got  he  eye  on 
her,  an'  she  jes  az  oudacious  an'  aggravatin  as  jes 
womens  kin  be. 


64  "Unc*  Edinburg" 

"  Dees  monsus  'ceivin  critters,  womens  is,  jes  as  on- 
reliable  as  de  hind-leg  of  a  mule ;  a  man  got  to  watch 
'em  all  de  time ;  you  kyarn  break  'em  like  you  kin 
horses. 

"  Now  dat  off  mule  dyah  "  (indicating,  by  a  lazy  but 
not  light  lash  of  his  whip  the  one  selected  for  his  il- 
lustration), "  dee  ain'  no  countin'  on  her  at  all ;  she  go 
'long  all  day,  or  maybe  a  week,  jes  dat  easy  an'  soci- 
able, an'  fust  thing  you  know  you  ain'  know  nuttin  she 
done  knock  you  brains  out;  dee  ain'  no  'pendence  to 
be  placed  in  'em  'tall,  suh ;  she  jes  as  sweet  as  a  kiss 
one  minute,  an'  next  time  she  come  out  de  house  she 
got  her  head  up  in  de  air,  an'  her  ears  backed,  an' 
goin'  long  switchin'  herself  like  I  ain'  good  'nough  for 
her  to  walk  on. 

" '  Fox-huntin's  *? '  oh,  yes,  suh,  ev'y  day  mos' ;  an' 
when  Marse  George  didn't  git  de  tail,  twuz  'cause 
twuz  a  bob-tail  fox — you  heah  me  !  He  play  de  rid- 
dle for  he  pastime,  but  he  fotched  up  in  de  saddle — 
dat  he  cradle  ! 

"  De  fust  day  dee  went  out  I  heah  Nancy  quoilin 
'bout  de  tail  layin'  on  Miss  Charlotte  dressin'-table 
gittin'  hyahs  over  ev'ything. 

"  One  day  de  ladies  went  out  too,  Miss  Charlotte 
Amongst  'em,  on  Miss  Lucy'  gray  myah  Switchity, 


"Und  EdMurg"  65 

an'  Marse  George  he  rid  Mr.  Braxton's  chestnut 
Willful. 

"  Well,  suh,  he  stick  so  close  to  dat  gray  myah,  he 
leetle  mo'  los'  dat  fox ;  but,  Lord  !  he  know  what  he 
'bout — he  monsus  'ceivin'  'bout  dat — he  know  de  way 
de  fox  gwine  jes  as  well  as  he  know  heself ;  an'  all 
de  time  he  leadin'  Miss  Charlotte  whar  she  kin  heah 
de  music,  but  he  watchin'  him  too,  jes  as  narrow  as  a 
ole  hound.  So,  when  de  fox  tun  de  head  o'  de  creek, 
Marse  George  had  Miss  Charlotte  on  de  aidge  o*  de 
flat,  an'  he  de  fust  man  see  de  fox  tun  down  on  turr 
side  wid  de  hounds  right  rank  after  him.  Dat  sort  o' 
set  him  back,  'cause  by  rights  de  fox  ought  to  a*  double 
an'  come  back  dis  side :  he  kyarn  git  out  dat  way ; 
an'  two  or  three  gent'mens  dee  had  see  it  too,  an*  wuz 
jes  layin  de  horses  to  de  groun'  to  git  roun'  fust,  'cause 
de  creek  wuz  heap  too  wide  to  jump,  an'  wuz  'way  over 
you  head,  an  hit  cold  as  Christmas,  sho  'nough ;  well, 
suh,  when  dee  tunned,  Mr.  Clarke  he  wuz  in  de  lead 
(he  wuz  ridin'  for  Miss  Charlotte  too),  an'  hit  fyah  set 
Marse  George  on  fire ;  he  ain'  said  but  one  wud, 
4  Wait,',  an'  jes  set  de  chestnut's  head  straight  for  de 
creek,  whar  de  fox  comin'  wid  he  hyah  up  on  he  back, 
an'  de  dogs  ravlin  mos'  on  him. 

"De  ladies  screamed,  an'  some  de  gent'mens  hoi- 


66  "Unc*  Edinburgtf 

lered  for  him  to  come  back,  but  he  ain'  mind;  he 
went  'cross  dat  flat  like  a  wild-duck ;  an'  when  he 
retch  de  water  he  horse  tried  to  flinch,  but  dat  hand 
on  de  bridle,  an'  dem  rowels  in  he  side,  an'  he  'bleeged 
to  teck  it. 

"  Lord  !  suh,  sich  a  screech  as  dee  set  up  !  But  he 
wuz  swimmin'  for  life,  an'  he  wuz  up  de  bank  an'  in 
de  middle  o'  de  dogs  time  dee  tetched  ole  Gray  Jack- 
et ;  an'  when  Mr.  Clarke  got  dyah  Marse  George  wuz 
stan'in'  wid  ice  on  him,  holdin'  up  de  tail  for  Miss 
Charlotte  to  see,  turr  side  de  creek,  an'  de  hounds  wuz 
wallerin'  all  over  de  body,  an'  I  don'  think  Mr,  Clarke 
done  got  up  wid  'em  yit. 

"  He  cotch  de  fox,  an'  he  cotch  some'n  else  besides, 
is  my  'pinion,  'cause  when  de  ladies  went  upstairs  dat 
night  Miss  Charlotte  had  to  wait  on  de  steps  for  a 
glass  o'  water,  an'  couldn'  nobody  git  it  but  Marse 
George ;  an'  den  when  she  tell  him  good-night  over 
de  banisters,  he  couldn'  say  it  good  enough ;  he  got 
to  kiss  her  hand ;  an'  she  ain'  do  nuttin  but  jes  peep 
upstairs  ef  anybody  dyah  lookin';  an'  when  I  come 
thoo  de  do'  she  juck  her  hand  'way  an'  run  upstairs 
jes  as  farst  as  she  could.  Marse  George  look  at  me 
sort  o'  laughin',  an'  say :  '  Confound  you !  Nancy 
couldn'  been  very  good  to  you.'  An'  I  say,  '  She  le' 


"UnS  Edinburg"  67 

me  squench  my  thirst  a  leetle  kissin'  her  hand ; '  an' 
he  sort  o'  laugh  an'  tell  me  to  keep  my  mouf  shet. 

"  But  dat  am'  de  on'y  time  I  come  on  'em.  Dee 
al'ays  gittin'  corndered ;  an'  de  evenin'  befo'  we  come 
'way  I  wuz  gwine  in  thoo  de  conservity,  an'  dyah  dee 
wuz  sort  o'  hide  'way.  Miss  Charlotte  she  wuz  settin' 
down,  an'  Marse  George  he  wuz  leanin'  over  her,  got 
her  hand  to  he  face,  talkin'  right  low  an'  lookin'  right 
sweet,  an'  she  ain'  say  nuttin ;  an'  presney  he  drapt  on 
one  knee  by  her,  an'  slip  he  arm  roun'  her,  an'  try  to 
look  in  her  eyes,  an'  she  so  'shamed  to  look  at  him 
she  got  to  hide  her  face  on  he  shoulder,  an'  I  slipt  out. 

"  We  come  'way  next  mornin'.  When  marster 
heah  'bout  it  he  didn'  teck  to  de  notion  at  all,  'cause 
her  pa — dat  is,  he  warn'  her  own  pa,  'cause  he  had 
married  her  ma  when  she  wuz  a  widder  after  Miss 
Charlotte  pa  died — an'  he  politics  warn'  same  as  ourn. 
*  Why,  you  kin  never  stand  him,  suh,'  he  said  to 
Marse  George.  'We  won't  mix  any  mo'n  fire  and 
water ;  you  ought  to  have  found  that  out  at  college ; 
dat  fellow  Darker  is  his  son.' 

"  Marse  George  he  say  he  know  dat ;  but  he  on'y 
de  step-brurr  of  de  young  lady,  an'  ain'  got  a  drap  o' 
her  blood  in  he  veins,  an'  he  didn'  know  it  when  he 
meet  her,  an'  anyhow  hit  wouldn'  meek  any  diffence ; 


68  "Unc'  Edinburg" 

an,  when  de  mistis  see  how  sot  Marse  George  is  on  il 
she  teck  he  side,  an'  dat  fix  it ;  'cause  when  ole  mis- 
tis warn  marster  to  do  a  thing,  hit  jes  good  as  done. 
I  don'  keer  how  much  he  rar  roun'  an'  say  he  ain' 
gwine  do  it,  you  jes  well  go  'long  an'  put  on  you  hat ; 
you  gwine  see  him  presney  doin'  it  jes  peaceable  as  a 
lamb.  She  tun  him  jes  like  she  got  bline-bridle  on 
him,  an'  he  ain'  nuver  know  it. 

"  So  she  got  him  jes  straight  as  a  string.  An'  when 
de  time  come  for  Marse  George  to  go,  marster  he  mo' 
consarned  'bout  it  'n  Marse  George ;  he  ain'  say  nut- 
tin  'bout  it  befo' ;  but  now  he  walkin'  roun'  an*  roun' 
axin  mistis  mo'  questions  'bout  he  cloes  an'  he  horse 
an'  all ;  an'  dat  mornin'  he  gi'  him  he  two  Sunday 
razors,  an'  gi'  me  a  pyah  o'  boots  an'  a  beaver  hat, 
'cause  I  wuz  gwine  wid  him  to  kyar  he  portmanteau, 
an'  git  he  shavin'  water,  sence  marster  say  ef  he  wuz 
gwine  marry  a  Locofoco,  he  at  least  must  go  like  a 
gent'man ;  an'  me  an'  Marse  George  had  done  settle 
it  'twixt  us,  cause  we  al'ays  set  bofe  we  traps  on  de 
same  hyah  parf. 

"  Well,  we  got  'em.  When  I  ax  dat  gal  out  on 
de  wood-pile  dat  night,  she  say  bein'  as  her  mistis 
gwine  own  me,  an'  we  bofe  got  to  be  in  de  same  es- 
tate, she  reckon  she  ain'  nuver  gwine  to  be  able  to  git 


"  We  come  'way  next  mornin? 


"  Unc'  Edinburg^  69 

shet  o'  me;  an'  den  I  clamp  her.     Oh,  she  wuz  a 
beauty ! " 

A  gesture  and  guffaw  completed  the  recital  of  his 
conquest. 

"  Yes,  suh,  we  got  'em  sho ! "  he  said,  presently. 
"  Dee  couldn*  persist  us  ;  we  crowd  'em  into  de  fence 
an'  run  'em  off  dee  foots. 

"  Den  come  de  'gagement;  an'  ev'ything  wuz  smooth 
as  silk.  Marse  George  an'  me  wuz  ridin'  over  dyah 
constant,  on'y  we  nuver  did  git  over  bein'  skeered 
when  we  wuz  ridin'  up  dat  turpentine  road  facin'  all 
dem  winders.  Hit  'pears  like  ev'ybody  in  de  wull 
'mos*  wuz  lookin'  at  us. 

"  One  evenin'  Marse  George  say,  '  Edinburg,  d'you 
ever  see  as  many  winders  p'intin'  one  way  in  you'  life  ? 
When  I  git  a  house,'  he  say,  '  I  gwine  have  all  de 
winders  lookin'  turr  way.' 

"  But  dat  evenin'  when  I  see  Miss  Charlotte  come 
walkin'  out  de  gret  parlor  wid  her  hyah  sort  o'  rum- 
pled over  her  face,  an'  some  yaller  roses  on  her  bres,  an* 
her  gret  eyes  so  soft  an'  sweet,  an'  Marse  George  walk- 
in'  'long  hinst  her,  so  peaceable,  like  she  got  chain 
'roun'  him,  I  say,  *  Or — or,  winders  ain'  nuttin.' 

"  Oh,  twuz  jes  like  holiday  all  de  time  !  An'  den 
Miss  Charlotte  come  over  to  see  mistis,  an'  of  co'se 


70  "Unc'  Edinburg" 

she  bring  her  maid  wid  her,  'cause  she  'bleeged  to 
have  her  maid,  you  know,  an'  dat  wuz  de  bes'  of  all. 

"  Dat  evenin',  bout  sunset,  dee  come  drivin'  up  in 
de  big  ker'idge,  wid  de  gret  hyah  trunk  stropped  on 
de  seat  behind,  an'  Nancy  she  settin'  by  Billy,  an' 
Marse  George  settin'  inside  by  he  rose-bud,  'cause  he 
had  done  gone  down  to  bring  her  up ;  an'  marster  he 
done  been  drest  in  he  blue  coat  an'  yallow  westket 
ever  sence  dinner,  an'  walkin'  roun',  watch  in'  up  de 
road  all  de  time,  an'  tellin'  de  mistis  he  reckon  dee 
ain'  comin',  an  ole  mistis  she  try  to  pacify  him,  an' 
she  come  out  presney  drest,  an'  rustlin'  in  her  stiff 
black  silk  an'  all ;  an'  when  de  ker'idge  come  in  sight, 
ev'ybody  wuz  runnin' ;  an'  when  dee  draw  up  to  de 
do',  Marse  George  he  help  her  out  an'  in'duce  her  to 
marster  an'  ole  mistis;  an'  marster  he  start  to  meek 
her  a  gret  bow,  an'  she  jes  put  up  her  mouf  like  a 
little  gal  to  be  kissed,  an'  dat  got  him.  An'  mistis 
teck  her  right  in  her  arms  an'  kiss  her  twice,  an'  de 
servants  dee  wuz  all  peepin'  an'  grinnin'. 

"Ev'ywhar  you  tun  you  see  a  niggei  teef,  'cause 
dee  all  warn  see  de  young  mistis  whar  good  'nough 
for  Marse  George. 

"Dee  ain'  gwine  be  married  tell  de  next  fall, 
'count  o'  Miss  Charlotte  bein'  so  young ;  but  she  jes 


"Unc  Edmburgfi  71 

good  as  b'longst  to  we  all  now;  an'  ole  marster  an' 
mistis  dee  jes  as  much  in  love  wid  her  as  Marse 
George.  Hi !  dee  warn  pull  de  house  down  an'  bull' 
it  over  for  her !  An'  ev'y  han'  on  de  place  he  peepin' 
to  try  to  git  a  look  at  he  young  mistis  whar  he  gwine 
b'longst  to.  One  evenin'  dee  all  on  'em  come  roun' 
de  porch  an'  send  for  Marse  George,  an'  when  he 
come  out,  Charley  Brown  (he  al'ays  de  speaker,  'cause 
he  got  so  much  mouf,  kin'  talk  pretty  as  white  folks), 
he  say  dee  warn  interduce  to  de  young  mistis,  an'  pay 
dee  bespects  to  her;  an'  presney  Marse  George  lead 
her  out  on  de  porch  laughin'  at  her,  wid  her  face  jes 
rosy  as  a  wine-sop  apple,  an'  she  meek  'em  a  beauti- 
ful bow'  an'  speak  to  'em  ev'y  one,  Marse  George 
namin'  de  names ;  an'  Charley  Brown  he  meek  her  a 
pretty  speech,  an'  tell  her  we  mighty  proud  to  own 
her ;  an'  one  o'  dem  impident  gals  ax  her  to  gin  her 
dat  white  frock  when  she  git  married ;  an'  when  she 
say,  4  Well,  what  am  I  goin'  wear  *? '  Sally  say,  '  Lord, 
honey,  Marse  George  gwine  dress  you  in  pure  gol' ! ' 
an'  she  look  up  at  him  wid  sparks  flashin'  out  her 
eyes,  while  he  look  like  dat  ain'  good  'nough  for  her. 
An'  so  twuz,  when  she  went  'way,  Sally  Marshall  got 
dat  frock,  an'  proud  on  it  I  tell  you. 

"Oh,   yes;    he   sutney   mindin'   her   tender.     Hi! 


72  "  Unc*  Edinburg" 

when  she  go  to  ride  in  evenin'  wid  him,  de  ain'  no 
horse-block  good  'nough  for  her !  Marse  George  got 
to  have  her  step  in  he  hand ;  an'  when  dee  out  walkin' 
he  got  de  umbrellar  holdin'  't  over  her  all  de  time,  he 
so  feared  de  sun'll  kiss  her;  an'  dee  walk  so  slow 
down  dem  walks  in  de  shade  you  got  to  sight  'em  by 
a  tree  to  tell  ef  dee  movin'  'tall.  She  use'  to  look  like 
she  used  to  it  too,  I  tell  you,  'cause  she  wuz  quality, 
one  de  white-skinned  ones ;  an'  she'd  set  in  dem  big 
cheers,  wid  her  little  foots  on  de  cricket  whar  Marse 
George  al'ays  set  for  her,  he  so  feared  dee'd  tech  de 
groun',  jes  like  she  on  her  throne  ;  an'  ole  marster  he'd 
watch  her  'mos'  edmirin  as  Marse  George ;  an'  when 
she  went  'way  hit  sutney  wuz  lonesome.  Hit  look 
like  daylight  gone  wid  her.  I  don'  know  which  I 
miss  mos',  Miss  Charlotte  or  Nancy. 

"  Den  Marse  George  wuz  'lected  to  de  Legislature, 
an'  ole  Jedge  Darker  run  for  de  Senator,  an'  Marse 
George  vote  gin  him  and  beat  him.  An'  dat  com- 
mence de  fuss ;  an'  den  dat  man  gi'  me  de  whuppin, 
an'  dat  breck  'tup  and  breck  he  heart. 

"You  see,  after  Marse  George  wuz  'lected  ('Lec- 
tions wuz  'lections  dem  days ;  dee  warn'  no  baitgode 
'lections,  wid  e'vy  sort  o'  wurrms  squirmin'  up  'ginst 
one  nurr,  wid  piece  o'  paper  d'  ain'  •  know  what  on, 


"Marse  George  lead  her  -out  on  de  porch: 


"  Unc   Edinburg^  73 

drappin'  in  a  chink ;  didn'  nuttin  but  gent'mens  vote 

den,  an*  dee  took  dee  dram,  an'  vote  out  loud,  like 

gent'mens) — well,  arter  Marse  George  was  'lected,  de 

parties  wuz  jes  as  even  balanced  as  stilyuds,  an'  wen 

dee  ax  Marse  George  who  wuz  to  be  de  Senator,  he 

vote   for  de  Whig,  'ginst  de  old  jedge,  an'  dat  beat 

him,  of  co'se.     An'  dee  am'  got  sense  to  know  he 

'bleeged  to  vote  wid  he  politics.     Dat  he  sprinciple ; 

he  kyarn  vote  for  Locofoco,  I  don'  keer  ef  he  is  Miss 

Charlotte  pa,  much  less  her  step-pa.     Of  co'se  de  ole 

jedge  ain'  speak  to  him  arter  dat,  nur  is  Marse  George 

ax  him  to.     But  who  dat  g'wine  s'pose  women-folks 

got  to  put  dee  mouf  in  too  ?  Miss  Charlotte  she  write 

Marse  George  a  letter  dat  pester  him  mightily ;   he 

set  up  all  night  answerin'  dat  letter,  an'  he  mighty 

solemn,  I  tell  you.     An'  I  wuz  gettin'  right  grewjou- 

some   myself,  'cause  I  studyin'   'bout  dat    gal  down 

dyah  whar  I  done  gi'  my  wud  to,  an'  when  dee  ain' 

no  letters  come  torectly  hit  hard  to  tell  which  one  de 

anxiouser,  me  or  Marse  George.     Den  presney  I  so 

'straughted  'long  o'  it  I    ax  Aunt  Haly  'bouten  it : 

(She  know  all  sich  things,  'cause  she  'mos'  a  hunderd 

years  ole,  an'  seed  evil  speerits,  an'  got  skoripins  up 

her  chimley,  an'  knowed  conjure)  ;  an*  she  ax  me  what 

wuz  de  signication,  an'  I  tell  her  I  ain'  able  nuther  to 


74  "Unc?  Edinburg" 

eat  nor  to  sleep,  an'  dat  gal  come  foolin'  'long  me 
when  I  sleep  jes  as  natchel  as  ef  I  see  her  sho'  'nough. 
An'  she  say  I  done  conjured ;  dat  de  gal  done  tricked 
me. 

"  Oh,  Gord !  dat  skeered  me ! 

"You  white  folks,  marster,  don'  b'lieve  nuttin  like 
dat ;  y'  all  got  too  much  sense,  'cause  y'  all  kin  read ; 
but  niggers  dee  ain'  know  no  better,  an'  I  sutney  wuz 
skeered,  'cause  Aunt  Haly  say  my  coffin  done  sea- 
soned, de  planks  up  de  chimley. 

"  Well,  I  got  so  bad  Marse  George  ax  me  'bout  it, 
an'  he  sort  o'  laugh  an'  sort  o'  cuss,  an'  he  tell  Aunt 
Haly  ef  she  don'  stop  dat  foolishness  skeerin'  me  he'll 
sell  her  an'  tyah  her  ole  skoripin  house  down.  Well, 
co'se  he  jes  talkin',  an'  he  ax  me  next  day  how'd  I 
like  to  go  an'  see  my  sweetheart.  Gord !  suh,  I  got 
well  torectly.  So  I  set  off  next  evenin',  feelin'  jes  big 
as  ole  marster,  wid  my  pass  in  my  pocket,  which  I 
warn'  to  show  nobody  'douten  I  'bleeged  to,  'cause 
Marse  George  didn't  warn  nobody  to  know  he  le'  me 
go.  An'  den  dat  rascallion  teck  de  shut  off  my  back. 
But  ef  Marse  George  didn'  pay  him  de  wuth  o'  it ! 

"  I  done  git  'long  so  good,  too. 

"  When  Nancy  see  me  she  sutney  wuz  'stonished. 
She  come  roun'  de  cornder  in  de  back  yard  whar  I 


"  Unc   Edinburg"  75 

settin'  in  Nat's  do'  (he  wuz  de  gardener),  wid  her 
hyah  all  done  ontwist,  an'  breshed  out  mighty  fine, 
an'  a  clean  ap'on  wid  fringe  on  it,  meckin'  out  she 
so  s'prised  to  see  me  (whar  wuz  all  a  lie,  'cause  some 
on  'em  done  notify  her  I  dyah),  an'  she  say, '  Hi !  what 
dis  black  nigger  doin'  heah  *?  ' 

"An'  I  say,  '  Who  you  callin'  nigger,  you  impident, 
kercumber-faced  thing,  you  ? '  Den  we  shake  hands, 
an'  I  tell  her  Marse  George  done  set  me  free — dat  I 
done  buy  myself;  dat's  de  lie  I  done  lay  off  to  tell 
her. 

"An'  when  I  tole  her  dat,  she  bust  out  laughin', 
an'  say,  well,  I  better  go  'long  'way,  den,  dat  she  don' 
warn  no  free  nigger  to  be  comp'ny  for  her.'  Dat  sort 
o'  set  me  back,  an'  I  tell  her  she  kickin'  'fo'  she 
spurred,  dat  I  ain'  got  her  in  my  mine ;  I  got  a  nurr 
gal  at  home  whar  grievin'  'bout  me  dat  ve'y  minute. 
An'  after  I  tell  her  all  sich  lies  as  dat  presney  she  ax 
me  ain'  I  hongry ;  an'  ef  dat  nigger  didn*  git  her  mam- 
my to  gi1  me  de  bes*  supter  !  Umm-m  !  I  kin  mos' 
tas'e  it  now.  Wheat  bread  off  de  table,  an'  zerves, 
an'  fat  bacon,  tell  I  couldn*  put  a  nurr  moufful  nowhar 
sep'n  I'd  teck  my  hat.  Dat  night  I  tote  Nancy  water 
for  her,  an'  I  tell  her  all  'bout  ev'ything,  an*  she  jes 
sweet  as  honey.  Next  mornin',  do',  she  done  sort  o' 


76  "Unc'  Edinburg" 

tunned  some,  an'  ain'  so  sweet.  You  know  how  milk 
gits  sort  o'  bonny-clabberish  ?  An'  when  she  see  me 
she  'gin  to  'buse  me  —  say  I  jes'  tryin'  to  fool  her,  an* 
all  de  time  got  nurr  wife  at  home,  or  gittin'  ready  to 
git  one,  for  all  she  know,  an'  she  ain'  know  wherr 
Marse  George  ain'  jes  'ceivin'  as  I  is ;  an'  nem  mine, 
she  got  plenty  warn  marry  her ;  an*  as  to  Miss  Char- 
lotte, she  got  de  whole  wull ;  Mr.  Darker  he  ain'  got 
nobody  in  he  way  now,  dat  he  deah  all  de  time,  an' 
ain'  gwine  West  no  mo'.  Well,  dat  aggrivate  me  so 
I  tell  her  ef  she  say  dat  'bout  Marse  George  I  gwine 
knock  her ;  an'  wid  dat  she  got  so  oudacious  I  meek 
out  I  gwine  'way,  an'  lef '  her,  an'  went  up  todes  de 
barn ;  an'  up  dyah,  fust  thing  I  know,  I  come  across 
dat  ar  man  Mr.  Darker.  Soon  as  he  see  me  he  begin 
to  cuss  me,  an'  he  ax  me  what  I  doin'  on  dat  land,  an' 
I  tell  him  'Nuttin'.'  An'  he  say,  well,  he  gwine  gi* 
me  some'n ;  he  gwine  teach  me  to  come  prowlin'  round 
gent'men's  houses.  An'  he  meek  me  go  in  de  barn 
an'  teck  off  my  shut,  an'  he  beat  me  wid  he  whup  tell 
de  blood  run  out  my  back.  He  sutney  did  beat  me 
scandalous,  'cause  he  done  hate  me  an'  Marse  George 
ever  since  we  wuz  at  college  togurr.  An'  den  he  say : 
*  Now  you  git  right  off  dis  land.  Ef  either  you  or 
you  marster  ever  put  you  foot  on  it,  you'll  git  de 


"  Unc   Edinburg"  77 

same  thing  agin.'  An'  I  tell  you,  Edinburg  he  come 
way,  'cause  he  sutney  had  worry  me.  I  ain'  stop  to 
see  Nancy  or  nobody ;  I  jes  come  'long,  shakin'  de 
dust,  I  tell  you.  An'  as  I  come  'long  de  road  I  pass 
Miss  Charlotte  walkin'  on  de  lawn  by  herself,  an'  she 
call  me  :  *  Why,  hi !  ain'  dat  Edinburg  ? ' 

"  She  look  so  sweet,  an'  her  voice  soun'  so  cool,  I 
say,  '  Yes'm ;  how  you  do,  missis  ? '  An'  she  say, 
she  ve'y  well,  an'  how  I  been,  an'  whar  I  gwine  ?  I 
tell  her  I  ain'  feelin'  so  well,  dat  I  gwine  home.  '  Hi ! ' 
she  say,  '  is  anybody  treat  you  bad  ?  '  An'  I  tell  her, 
4  Yes'm'.  An'  she  say,  *  Oh  !  Nancy  don*  mean  nuttin 
by  dat ;  dat  you  mus'n  mine  what  womens  say,  an' 
do,  'cause  dee  feel  sorry  for  it  next  minute ;  an'  some- 
times dee  kyarn  help  it,  or  maybe  hit  you  fault;  an' 
anyhow,  you  ought  to  be  willin'  to  overlook  it ;  an'  I 
better  go  back  an'  wait  till  to-morrow  —  ef —  ef  I  ain' 
'bleeged  to  git  home  to-day.' 

"  She  got  mighty  mixed  up  in  de  een  part  o'  dat, 
an'  she  looked  mighty  anxious  'bout  me  an'  Nancy ; 
an'  I  tell  her,  '  No'm,  I  'bleeged  to  git  home.' 

"  Well,  when  I  got  home  Marse  George  he  warn 
know  all  dat  gwine  on  ;  but  I  mighty  sick  —  dat  man 
done  beat  me  so ;  an'  he  ax  me  what  de  marter,  an'  I 
upped  an'  tell  him. 


78  "Unc   Edinburg" 

"  Gord !  I  nuver  see  a  man  in  sich  a  rage.  He  call 
me  in  de  office  an'  meek  me  teck  off  my  shut,  an'  he 
fyah  bust  out  cryin'.  He  walked  up  an'  down  dat 
office  like  a  caged  lion.  Ef  he  had  got  he  hand  on 
Mr.  Darker  den,  he'd  'a  kilt  him,  sho ! 

"  He  wuz  most  'stracted.  I  don't  know  what  he'd 
been  ef  I'd  tell  him  what  Nancy  tell  me.  He  call  for 
Peter  to  get  he  horse  torectly,  an'  he  tell  me  to  go  an' 
git  some'n  from  mammy  to  put  on  my  back,  an'  to  go 
to  bed  torectly,  an'  not  to  say  nuttin  to  nobody,  but 
to  tell  he  pa  he'd  be  away  for  two  days,  maybe ;  an' 
den  he  got  on  Reveller  an'  galloped  'way  hard  as  he 
could,  wid  he  jaw  set  farst,  an'  he  heaviest  whup 
clamped  in  he  hand.  Gord !  I  wuz  most  hopin'  he 
wouldn'  meet  dat  man,  'cause  I  feared  ef  he  did  he'd 
kill  him;  an'  he  would,  sho,  ef  he  had  meet  him 
right  den ;  dee  say  he  leetle  mo'  did  when  he  fine  him 
next  day,  an'  he  had  done  been  ridin'  den  all  night ; 
he  cotch  him  at  a  sto'  on  de  road,  an'  dee  say  he 
leetle  mo'  cut  him  all  to  pieces ;  he  drawed  a  weepin 
on  Marse  George,  but  Marse  George  wrench  it  out 
he  hand  an'  flung  it  over  de  fence ;  an'  when  dee  got 
him  'way  he  had  weared  he  whup  out  on  him ;  an'  he 
got  dem  whelps  on  him  now,  ef  he  ain'  dead.  Yes, 
suh,  he  ain'  let  nobody  else  do  dat  he  ain'  do  heself,  sho! 


"  Unc  Edinburg'1  79 

"  Dat  done  de  business  ! 

"  He  sont  Marse  George  a  challenge,  but  Marse 
George  sont  him  wud  he'll  cowhide  him  agin  ef  he  ever 
heah  any  mo'  from  him,  an'  he  'ain't.  Dat  perrify 
him,  so  he  shet  he  mouf.  Den  come  he  ring  an'  all 
he  pictures  an'  things  back  —  a  gret  box  on  'em',  and 
not  a  wud  wid  'em.  Marse  George,  I  think  he  know'd 
dee  wuz  comin',  but  dat  am'  keep  it  from  huttin  him, 
'cause  he  done  been  'gaged  to  Miss  Charlotte,  an'  got 
he  mine  riveted  to  her ;  an'  do'  befo'  dat  dee  had  stop 
writin',  an'  a  riff  done  git  'twixt  'em,  he  ain'  satisfied  in 
he  mine  dat  she  ain't  gwine  'pologizee  —  I  know  by 
Nancy;  but  now  he  got  de  confirmation  dat  he  done 
for  good,  an'  dat  de  gret  gulf  fixed  'twix  him  an* 
Aberham  bosom.  An',  Gord,  suh,  twuz  torment,  sho 
'nough !  He  ain'  say  nuttin  'bout  it,  but  I  see  de 
light  done  pass  from  him,  an'  de  darkness  done  wrap 
him  up  in  it.  In  a  leetle  while  you  wouldn'  a  knowed 
him. 

"  Den  ole  mistis  died. 

"B'lieve  me,  ole  marster  he  'most  much  hut  by 
Miss  Charlotte  as  Marse  George.  He  meek  a  'tempt 
to  buy  Nancy  for  me,  so  I  find  out  arterward,  an' 
write  Jedge  Darker  he'll  pay  him  anything  he'll  ax  for 
her,  but  he  letter  wuz  sont  back  'dout  any  answer. 


So  ff  Unc'  Edinburg" 

He  sutney  was  mad  'bout  it  —  he  say  he'd  horsewhip 
him  as  Marse  George  did  dat  urr  young  puppy,  but 
ole  mistis  wouldn'  le'  him  do  nuttin,  and  den  he  grieve 
heself  to  death.  You  see  he  mighty  ole,  anyways. 
He  nuver  got  over  ole  mistis'  death.  She  had  been 
failin'  a  long  time,  an*  he  ain'  tarry  long  'hinst  her; 
hit  sort  o'  like  breckin  up  a  holler  —  de  ole  'coon  goes 
'way  soon  arter  dat ;  an'  marster  nuver  could  pin  he 
own  collar  or  buckle  he  own  stock  —  mistis  she  al'ays 
do  dat ;  an'  do'  Marse  George  do  de  bes'  he  kin,  an' 
mighty  willin',  he  kyarn  handle  pin  like  a  woman ;  he 
hand  tremble  like  a  p' inter  dog;  an'  anyways  he  ain' 
ole  mistis.  So  ole  marster  foller  her  dat  next  fall, 
when  dee  wuz  gittin  in  de  com,  an'  Marse  George  he 
ain'  got  nobody  in  de  wull  left ;  he  all  alone  in  dat 
gret  house,  an'  I  wonder  sometimes  he  ain'  die  too, 
'cause  he  sutney  wuz  fond  o'  old  marster. 

"When  ole  mistis  wuz  dyin',  she  tell  him  to  be 
good  to  ole  marster,  an'  patient  wid  him,  'cause  he 
ain'  got  nobody  but  him  now  (ole  marster  he  had  jes 
step  out  de  room  to  cry) ;  an'  Marse  George  he  lean 
over  her  an'  kiss  her  an*  promise  her  faithful  he  would. 
An'  he  sutney  wuz  tender  wid  him  as  a  woman ;  an' 
when  ole  marster  die,  he  set  by  him  an'  hoi'  he  hand 
an'  kiss  him  sorf,  like  he  wuz  ole  mistis. 


t( 


Unc'  Edinburg"  81 


"  But,  Gord !  twuz  lonesome  arter  dat,  an'  Marse 
George  eyes  look  wistful,  like  he  al'ays  lookin'  far 
'way. 

"  Aunt  Haly  say  he  see  harnts  whar  walk  'bout  in 
de  gret  house.  She  say  dee  walk  dyah  constant  of 
nights  sence  ole  marster  done  alterate  de  rooms  from 
what  dee  wuz  when  he  gran'pa  buil'  'em,  an'  dat  dee 
huntin'  for  dee  ole  chambers  an'  kyarn  git  no  rest 
'cause  dee  kyarn  fine  'em.  I  don't  know  how  dat  wuz. 
I  know  Marse  George  he  used  to  walk  about  heself 
mightily  of  nights.  All  night  long,  all  night  long,  I'd 
heah  him  tell  de  chickens  crowin'  dee  second  crow, 
an'  some  mornin's  I'd  go  dyah  an'  he  ain'  even  rum- 
ple de  bed.  I  thought  sho  he  wuz  gwine  die,  but  I 
suppose  he  done  'arn  he  days  to  be  long  in  de  land, 
an'  dat  save  him.  But  hit  sutney  wuz  lonesome,  an' 
he  nuver  went  off  de  plantation,  an'  he  got  older  an' 
older,  tell  we  all  thought  he  wuz  gwine  die. 

"  An'  one  day  come  jes  befo'  Christmas,  'bout  nigh 
two  year  arfter  marster  die,  Mr.  Braxton  ride  up  to 
de  do'.  He  had  done  come  to  teck  Marse  George 
home  to  spen'  Christmas  wid  him.  Marse  George 
warn  git  out  it,  but  Mr.  Braxton  won'  teck  no  disap- 
p'intment ;  he  say  he  gwine  baptize  he  boy,  an'  he 
done  name  him  after  Marse  George  (he  had  marry 


82  "Unc*  Edmburg" 

Marse  George  cousin,  Miss  Peggy  Carter,  an'  he  vite 
Marse  George  to  de  weddin',  but  he  wouldn*  go,  do* 
I  sutney  did  want  him  to  go,  'cause  I  heah  Miss  Char- 
lotte was  nominated  to  marry  Mr.  Darker,  an'  I  warn 
know  what  done  'come  o'  dat  bright-skinned  nigger 
gal  whar  I  used  to  know  down  dyah)  ;  an'  he  say 
Marse  George  got  to  come  an'  stan'  for  him,  an'  gi' 
him  a  silver  cup  an'  a  gol'  rattle.  So  Marse  George 
he  finally  promise  to  come  an*  spend  Christmas  Day, 
an'  Mr.  Braxton  went  'way  next  mornin',  an'  den  hit 
tun  in  an'  rain  so  I  feared  we  couldn'  go,  but  hit  cler 
off  de  day  befo'  Christmas  Eve  an*  tun  cold.  Well, 
suh,  we  ain'  been  nowhar  for  so  long  I  wuz  skittish  as 
a  young  filly ;  an'  den  you  know  twuz  de  same  ole 
place. 

"  We  didn'  git  dyah  till  supper-time,  an'  twuz  a 
good  one  too,  'cause  seventy  miles  dat  cold  a  weather 
hit  whet  a  man's  honger  jes  like  a  whetstone. 

"  Dee  sutney  wuz  glad  to  see  we  all.  We  rid 
roun'  by  de  back  yard  to  gi'  Billy  de  horses,  an'  we 
see  dee  wuz  havin'  gret  fixin's ;  an'  den  we  went  to  de 
house,  jest  as  some  o'  de  folks  run  in  an'  tell  'em  we 
wuz  come.  When  Marse  George  stept  in  de  hall, 
dee  all  clustered  roun'  him  like  dee  gwine  hug  him, 
dee  faces  fyah  dimplin'  wid  pleasure,  an'  Miss  Peggy 


"  Unc'  Edinburg"  83 

she  jes  reched  up  an'  teck  him  in  her  arms  an'  hug 
him. 

"  Dee  tell  me  in  de  kitchen  dat  dee  wuz  been 
'spectin'  of  Miss  Charlotte  over  to  spend  Christmas 
too,  but  de  river  wuz  so  high  dee  s'pose  dee  couldn* 
git  cross.  Chile,  dat  sutney  disapp'int  me  ! 

"  Well,  after  supper  de  niggers  had  a  dance.  Hit 
wuz  down  in  de  wash-house,  an'  de  table  wuz  set  in 
de  carpenter  shop  jes'  by.  Oh,  hit  sutney  wuz  beau- 
tiful !  Miss  Lucy  an'  Miss  Ailsy  dee  had  superintend 
ev'ything  wid  dee  own  hands.  So  dee  wuz  down 
dyah  wid  dee  ap'ons  up  to  dee  chins,  an'  dee  had  de 
big  silver  strandeliers  out  de  house,  two  on  each  table, 
an'  some  o'  ole  mistis's  best  damas'  tablecloths,  an* 
ole  marster's  gret  bowl  full  o'  egg-nog  ;  hit  look  big 
as  a  mill-pond  settin'  dyah  in  de  cornder ;  an'  dee  had 
flowers  out  de  greenhouse  on  de  table,  an'  some  o'  de 
chany  out  de  gret  house,  an'  de  dinin'-room  cheers  set 
roun'  de  room.  Oh !  oh  !  nuttin  warn  too  good  for 
niggers  dem  times ;  an'  de  little  niggers  wuz  runnin* 
roun'  right  'stracted,  squealin'  an'  peepin'  an'  gittin  in 
de  way  onder  you  foots ;  an'  de  mens  dee  wuz  totin* 
in  de  wood  —  gret  hickory  logs,  look  like  stock  whar 
you  gwine  saw  —  an'  de  fire  so  big  hit  look  like  you 
gwine  kill  hawgs,  'cause  hit  sutney  wuz  cold  dat 


84  "Unc'  Edinburg^ 

night.  Dis  nigger  ain'  nuver  gwine  forgit  it !  Jack 
Forester  he  had  come  'cross  de  river  to  lead  de  fid- 
dlers, an'  he  say  he  had  to  put  he  fiddle  onder  he  coat 
an'  poke  he  bow  in  he  breeches  leg  to  keep  de  strings 
from  poppin',  an'  dat  de  river  would  freeze  over  sho 
ef  twarn  so  high ;  but  twuz  jes  snortin',  an'  he  had 
hard  wuck  to  git  over  in  he  skiff,  an'  Unc'  Jeems  say 
he  ain'  gwine  come  out  he  boat-house  no  mo'  dat 
night  —  he  done  tempt  Providence  often  'nough  for 
one  day. 

"  Den  ev'ything  wuz  ready,  an'  de  fiddlers  got  dee 
dram  an'  chuned  up,  an'  twuz  lively,  I  tell  you ! 
Twuz  jes  as  thick  in  dyah  as  blackberries  on  de  black- 
berry bush,  'cause  ev'y  gal  on  de  plantation  wuz  dyah 
shakin'  her  foot  for  some  young  buck,  an'  back- 
steppin'  for  to  go  'long.  Dem  ole  sleepers  wuz  jes 
a-rockin',  an'  Jack  Forester  he  wuz  callin'  de  figgers 
for  to  wake  'em  up.  I  warn'  dancin',  'cause  I  done 
got  'ligion  an  'longst  to  de  chutch  sence  de  trouble 
done  tech  us  up  so  rank ;  but  I  tell  you  my  foots  wuz 
pintedly  eechchin  for  a  leetle  sop  on  it,  an'  I  had  to 
come  out  to  keep  from  crossin'  'em  onst,  anyways. 
Den,  too,  I  had  a  tetch  o'  misery  in  my  back,  an' 
I  lay  off  to  git  a  tas'e  o'  dat  egg-nog  out  dat  big  bowl, 
wid  snowdrift  on  it,  from  Miss  Lucy  —  she  al'ays 


"Unc'  Edinburgfi  85 

mighty  fond  o'  Marse  George  ;  so  I  slip  into  de  car- 
penter shop,  an'  ax  her  kyarn  I  do  nuttin  for  her,  an' 
she  laugh  an'  say,  yes,  I  kin  drink  her  health,  an'  gi' 
me  a  gret  gobletful,  an'  jes  den  de  white  folks  come 
in  to  'spec'  de  tables,  Marse  George  in  de  lead,  an' 
dee  all  fill  up  dee  glasses  an'  pledge  dee  health,  an'  all 
de  servants',  an'  a  merry  Christmas ;  an'  den  dee  went 
in  de  wash-house  to  see  de  dancin',  an'  maybe  to  teck 
a  han  deeself,  'cause  white  folks'  'ligion  ain'  like  nig- 
gers', you  know;  dee  got  so  much  larnin  dee  kin 
dance,  an'  fool  de  devil  too.  An'  I  stay  roun'  a  little 
while,  an'  den  went  in  de  kitchen  to  see  how  supper 
gittin'  on,  'cause  I  wuz  so  hongry  when  I  got  dyah  I 
ain'  able  to  eat  'nough  at  one  time  to  'commodate  it, 
an'  de  smell  o*  de  tuckeys  an'  de  gret  saddlers  o' 
mutton  in  de  tin-kitchens  wuz  mos'  'nough  by  deeself 
to  feed  a  right  hongry  man ;  an'  dyah  wuz  a  whole 
parcel  o'  niggers  cookin'  an'  tunnin  'bout  for  life,  an' 
dee  faces  jes  as  shiny  as  ef  dee  done  bas'e  'em  wid 
gravy ;  an'  dyah,  settin'  back  in  a  cheer  out  de  way, 
wid  her  clean  frock  up  off  de  flo',  wuz  dat  gal !  I 
sutney  did  feel  curiousome. 

"  I  say,  '  Hi !  name  o'  Gord !  whar'd  you  come 
from  ?  '  She  say,  4  Oh,  Marster  !  ef  heah  ain'  dat  free 
nigger  agin ! '  An'  ev'ybody  laughed. 


86  "Urn;'  Edinburg" 

"•Well,  presny  we  come  out,  cause  Nancy  warn 
see  de  dancin',  an'  we  stop  a  leetle  while  liind  de 
comder  out  de  wind  while  she  tell  me  'bout  ev'ything. 
An'  she  say  dafs  all  a  lie  she  tell  me  dat  day  'bout 
Mr.  Darker  an'  Miss  Charlotte;  an'  he  done  gone 
*war  now  tor  good  'cause  he  so  low  down  an'  wuth- 
less  dee  kyara  nobody  stand  him ;  an'  all  he  warn 
many  Miss  Charlotte  tor  is  to  git  her  niggers.  But 
Nancy  say  Miss  Charlotte  nuver  could  abide  him ;  he 
so  'sateful,  'spressiy  sence  she  fine  out  what  a  lie  he 
told  "bout  Marse  George.  You  know,  Mr.  Darker  he 
done  meek  'em  mink  Marse  George  sont  me  dyah  to 
fine  out  ef  he  done  come  home,  an'  den  dat  he  fell  on 
him  wid  he  weepin  when  he  ain'  noticin'  him,  an'  sort 
o*  out  de  way  too,  an'  git  two  urr  mens  to  hold  him 
while  he  beat  him,  all  'cause  he  in  love  wid  Miss 
Charlotte.  D'you  ever,  erer  heah  sich  a  lie?  An' 
Nancy  say,  do'  Miss  Charlotte  ain'  b'lieve  it  all  togerr, 
hit  look  so  reasonable  she  done  le?  de  ole  jedge  an'  her 
ma,  who  wuz  'pending  on  what  she  heah,  'duce  her  to 
send  back  he  things  ;  an'  dee  ain'  know  no  better  not 
tell  after  de  ole  jedge  die  ;  den  dee  fine  out  Tx>ut  de 
whuppin  me,  an'  all;  an'  den  Miss  Charlotte  know 
huccome  I  ain'  gwine  stay  dat  day ;  an'  she  say  dee 
sotney  outdone  'bout  it.  but  it  too  late  den ;  an' 


"Unc'  Edinburg"  87 

Miss  Charlotte  kyam  do  nuttin  but  cry  'bout  it,  an' 
dat  she  did,  pintedly,  'cause  she  done  lost  Marse 
George,  an'  done  'stroy  he  life ;  an'  she  nuver  keer 
'bout  nobody  else  sep  Marse  George,  Nancy  say. 
Mr.  Clarke  he  hangin'  on,  but  Miss  Charlotte  she 
done  tell  him  pintedly  she  ain'  nuver  gwine  marry  no- 
body. An'  dee  jes  done  come,  she  say,  'cause  dee 
had  to  go  'way  roun  by  de  rope  ferry  'long  o'  de  river 
bein'  so  high,  an'  dee  ain'  know  tell  dee  done  git  out 
de  ker'idge  an'  in  de  house  dat  we  all  wuz  heah ;  an' 
Nancy  say  she  glad  dee  ain',  'cause  she  'feared  el  dee 
had,  Miss  Charlotte  wouldn'  'a  come. 

•*  Den  I  tell  her  all  'bout  Marse  George,  'cause  I 
know  she  'bleeged  to  tell  Miss  Charlotte.  Twuz 
powerful  cold  out  dyah,  but  I  ain'  mine  dat,  chile. 
Nancy  she  done  had  to  wrop  her  arms  up  in  her  ap'on 
an'  she  kyam  meek  no  zistance  'tall,  an'  dis  nigger 
ain'  keerin'  nuttin  'bout  cold  den, 

"An*  jes  den  two  ladies  come  out  de  carpenter 
shop  an'  went  'long  to  de  wash-house,  an'  Nancy  say, 
4  Dyah  Miss  Charlotte  now ; '  an'  twuz  Miss  Lucy  an' 
Miss  Charlotte ;  an'  we  heah  Miss  Lucy  coaxin'  Miss 
Charlotte  to  go,  tellin'  her  she  kin  come  right  out ; 
an*  jes  den  dee  wuz  a  gret  shout,  an'  we  went  in  hinst 
'em.  Twuz  Marse  George  had  done  teck  de  fiddle, 


88  "Unc*  Edinburg" 

an'  ef  he  warn'  natchelly  layin'  hit  down  !  he  wuz  up 
at  de  urr  een  o'  de  room,  'way  from  we  all,  'cause  we 
wuz  at  de  do',  nigh  Miss  Charlotte  whar  she  wuz 
standin'  'hind  some  on  'em,  wid  her  eyes  on  him 
mighty  timid,  like  she  hidin'  from  him,  an'  ev'y  nig- 
ger in  de  room  wuz  on  dat  flo'.  Gord  !  suh,  dee  wuz 
grinnin'  so  dee  warn'  a  toof  in  dat  room  you  couldn' 
git  you  tweezers  on;  an'  you  couldn'  heah  a  wud, 
dee  so  proud  o'  Marse  George  playin'  for  'em. 

"  Well,  dee  danced  tell  you  couldn'  tell  which  wuz 
de  clappers  an'  which  de  back-steppers ;  de  whole 
house  look  like  it  wuz  rockin* ;  an'  presney  somebody 
say  supper,  an'  dat  stop  'em,  an'  dee  wuz  a  spell  for  a 
minute,  an'  Marse  George  standin'  dyah  wid  de  fiddle 
in  he  hand.  He  face  wuz  tunned  away,  an'  he  wuz 
studyin'  —  studyin'  'bout  dat  urr  Christmas  so  long  ago 
—  an'  sudney  he  face  drapt  down  on  de  fiddle,  an'  he 
drawed  he  bow  'cross  de  strings,  an'  dat  chune  'bout 
*  You'll  ermember  me '  begin  to  whisper  right  sorf. 
Hit  begin  so  low  ev'ybody  had  to  stop  talkin'  an' 
hold  dee  mouf  to  heah  it ;  an'  Marse  George  he  ain' 
know  nuttin  'bout  it,  he  done  gone  back,  an'  standin' 
dyah  in  de  gret  hall  playin'  it  for  Miss  Charlotte,  whar 
done  come  down  de  steps  wid  her  little  blue  foots  an' 
gret  fan,  an'  standin'  dyah  in  her  dim  blue  dress  an* 


"  Hit  begin  so  low  evybody  had  to  stop  talkiri" 


"Unc  Edinburg"  89 

her  fyah  arms,  an'  her  gret  eyes  lookin'  in  he  face  so 
earnest,  whar  he  ain'  gwine  nuver  speak  to  no  mo'.  I 
see  it  by  de  way  he  look  —  an'  de  fiddle  wuz  jes  plead- 
in'.  He  drawed  it  out  jes  as  fine  as  a  stran'  o'  Miss 
Charlotte's  hyah. 

"  Hit  so  sweet,  Miss  Charlotte,  mun,  she  couldn' 
stan'  it ;  she  made  to  de  do' ;  an'  jes  while  she  watch- 
in'  Marse  George  to  keep  him  from  seein'  her  he  look 
dat  way,  an'  he  eyes  fall  right  into  hern. 

"  Well,  suh,  de  fiddle  drapt  down  on  de  flo' —  per- 
lang !  —  an'  he  face  wuz  white  as  a  sycamore  limb. 

"  Dee  say  twuz  a  swimmin'  in  de  head  he  had ;  an' 
Jack  say  de  whole  fiddle  warn  wuffde  five  dollars. 

"  Me  an'  Nancy  followed  'em  tell  dee  went  in  de 
house,  an'  den  we  come  back  to  de  shop  whar  de  sup- 
per wuz  gwine  on,  an'  got  we  all  supper  an'  a  leetle 
sop  o'  dat  yaller  gravy  out  dat  big  bowl,  an'  den  we 
all  rejourned  to  de  wash-house  agin,  an'  got  onder  de 
big  bush  o'  misseltow  whar  hangin'  from  de  jice,  an* 
ef  you  ever  see  scufflin'  dat's  de  time. 

"  Well,  me  an'  she  had  jes  done  lay  off  de  whole 
Christmas,  when  wud  come  dat  Marse  George  want 
he  horses. 

"  I  went,  but  it  sutney  breck  me  up  ;  an'  I  wonder 
whar  de  name  o'  Gord  Marse  George  gwine  sen*  me 


90  "  Unc   Edinburg" 

dat  cold  night,  an'  jes  as  I  got  to  de  do1  Marse  George 
an'  Mr.  Braxton  come  out,  an'  I  know  torectly  Marse 
George  wuz  gwine  'way.  I  seen  he  face  by  de  light 
o'  de  lantern,  an'  twuz  set  jes  rigid  as  a  rock. 

"  Mr.  Braxton  he  wuz  baiggin  him  to  stay ;  he  tell 
him  he  ruinin'  he  life,  dat  he  sho  dee's  some  mistake, 
an'  twill  be  all  right.  An'  all  de  answer  Marse  George 
meek  wuz  to  swing  heself  up  in  de  saddle,  an'  Rev- 
eller he  look  like  he  gwine  fyah  'stracted.  He  al'ays 
mighty  fool  anyways  when  he  git  cold,  dat  horse  wuz. 

"  Well,  we  come  'long  'way,  an'  Mr.  Braxton  an' 
two  mens  come  down  to  de  river  wid  lanterns  to  see 
us  cross,  'cause  twuz  dark  as  pitch,  sho  'nough. 

"  An'  jes  'fo'  I  started  I  got  one  o'  de  mens  to  hoi' 
my  horses,  an'  I  went  in  de  kitchen  to  git  warm,  an' 
dyah  Nancy  wuz.  An'  she  say  Miss  Charlotte  up- 
steairs  cryin'  right  now,  'cause  she  think  Marse  George 
gwine  cross  de  river  'count  o'  her,  an'  she  whimper  a 
little  herself  when  I  tell  her  good-by.  But  twuz  too 
late  den. 

"  Well,  de  river  wuz  jes  natchelly  b'ilin',  an'  hit 
soun'  like  a  mill-dam  roarin'  by ;  an'  when  we  got 
dyah  Marse  George  tunned  to  me  an'  tell  me  he  reck- 
on I  better  go  back.  I  ax  him  whar  he  gwine,  an'  he 
say,  *  Home.'  '  Den  I  gwine  wid  you,'  I  says.  I 


"  Unc   Edinburg  "  91 

wuz  mighty  skeered,  but  me  an'  Marse  George  wuz 
boys  togerr ;  an'  he  plunged  right  in,  an'  I  after  him. 

"  Gord !  twuz  cold  as  ice ;  an'  we  hadn*  got  in 
befo'  bofe  horses  wuz  swimmin'  for  life.  He  holler 
to  me  to  byah  de  myah  head  up  de  stream ;  an'  I  did 
try,  but  what's  a  nigger  to  dat  water !  Hit  jes  pick  me 
up  an'  dash  me  down  like  I  ain'  no  mo'n  a  chip,  an' 
de  fust  thing  I  know  I  gwine  down  de  stream  like  a 
piece  of  bark,  an'  water  washin'  all  over  me.  I  knowed 
den  I  gone,  an'  I  hollered  for  Marse  George  for  help. 
I  heah  him  answer  me  not  to  git  skeered,  but  to  hold 
on ;  but  de  myah  wuz  lungin'  an'  de  water  wuz  all 
over  me  like  ice,  an'  den  I  washed  off  de  myah  back, 
an'  got  drownded. 

"  I  'member  comin'  up  an'  hollerin'  agin  for  help, 
but  I  know  den'  'tain*  no  use,  dee  ain'  no  help  den, 
an'  I  got  to  pray  to  Gord,  an*  den  some'n  hit  me  an'  I 
went  down  agin,  an'  —  de  next  thing  I  know  I  wuz 
in  de  bed,  an'  I  heah  'em  talkin'  'bout  wherr  I  dead 
or  not,  an'  I  ain'  know  myself  tell  I  taste  de  whiskey 
dee  po'rin'  down  my  jugular. 

"An*  den  dee  tell  me  'bout  how  when  I  hollered 
Marse  George  tun  back  an'  struck  out  for  me  for 
life,  an'  how  jes  as  I  went  down  de  last  time  he  cotch 
me  an'  helt  on  to  me  tell  we  wash  down  to  whar  de 


92  "  Unc'  Edinburg  " 

bank  curve,  an'  dyah  de  current  wuz  so  rapid  hit  yuck 
him  off  Reveller  back,  but  he  helt  on  to  de  reins  tell 
de  horse  lunge  so  he  hit  him  wid  he  fo'  foot  an'  breck 
he  collar-bone,  an'  den  he  had  to  let  him  go,  an'  jes 
helt  on  to  me ;  an*  den  we  wash  up  agin  de  bank  an' 
cotch  in  a  tree,  an*  de  mens  got  dyah  quick  as  dee 
could,  an'  when  dee  retched  us  Marse  George  wuz 
hold  in'  on  to  me,  an'  had  he  arm  wropped  roun'  a 
limb,  an'  we  wuz  lodged  in  de  crotch,  an'  bofe  jes  as 
dead  as  a  nail ;  an'  de  myah  she  got  out,  but  Reveller 
he  wuz  drownded,  wid  his  foot  cotch  in  de  rein  an' 
de  saddle  tunned  onder  he  side;  an'  dee  ain'  know 
wherr  Marse  George  ain'  dead  too,  'cause  he  not  only 
drownded,  but  he  lef'  arm  broke  up  nigh  de  shoulder. 
"  An'  dee  say  Miss  Charlotte  she  'mos'  'stracted ; 
dat  de  fust  thing  anybody  know  'bout  it  wuz  when 
some  de  servants  bust  in  de  hall  an'  holler,  an'  say 
Marse  George  an'  me  bofe  done  washed  'way  an' 
drownded,  an'  dat  she  drapt  down  dead  on  de  flo', 
an'  when  dee  bring  her  to  she  'low  to  Miss  Lucy  dat 
she  de  'casion  on  he  death ;  an'  dee  say  dat  when  de 
mens  wuz  totin'  him  in  de  house,  an'  wuz  shufflin'  de 
feets  not  to  meek  no  noige,  an'  a  little  piece  o'  wet 
blue  silk  drapt  out  he  breast  whar  somebody  picked 
up  an'  gin  Miss  Lucy,  Miss  Charlotte  breck  right 


•  ',»•••» 


"Miss  Cliarlotte  she  'tnos'  'stracted" 


"  Unc'  Edinburg"  93 

down  agin ;  an'  some  on  'em  say  she  sutney  did  keer 
for  him ;  an'  now  when  he  layin'  upstairs  dyah  dead, 
hit  too  late  for  him  ever  to  know  it. 

"  Well,  suh,  I  couldn'  teck  it  in  dat  Marse  George 
and  Reveller  wuz  dead,  an'  jes  den  somebody  say 
Marse  George  done  comin'  to  an'  dee  gi'  me  so  much 
whiskey  I  went  to  sleep. 

"  An'  next  mornin'  I  got  up  an'  went  to  Marse 
George  room,  an'  see  him  layin'  dyah  in  de  bed,  wid 
he  face  so  white  an'  he  eyes  so  tired-lookin',  an'  he 
ain'  know  me  no  mo'  'n  ef  he  nuver  see  me,  an'  I 
couldn'  stan'  it ;  I  jes  drap  down  on  de  flo'  an'  bust 
out  cryin'.  Gord !  suh,  I  couldn'  help  it,  'cause  Rev- 
eller wuz  drownded,  an'  Marse  George  he  wuz  mos' 
gone. 

"  An'  he  came  nigher  goin'  yit,  'cause  he  had  sich  a 
strain,  an'  been  so  long  in  de  water,  he  heart  done 
got  numbed,  an'  he  got  'lirium,  an'  all  de  time  he 
thought  he  tryin'  to  git  'cross  de  river  to  see  Miss 
Charlotte,  an'  hit  so  high  he  kyarn  git  dyah. 

"  Hit  sutney  wuz  pitiful  to  see  him  layin'  dyah 
tossin'  an'  pitchin',  not  knowin'  whar  he  wuz,  tell  it 
teck  all  Mr.  Braxton  an'  me  could  do  to  keep  him 
in  de  bed,  an'  de  doctors  say  he  kyarn  hoi'  out  much 
longer. 


94  "  Unc'  Edinburg" 

"  An'  all  dis  time  Miss  Charlotte  she  wuz  gwine 
'bout  de  house  wid  her  face  right  white,  an'  Nancy 
say  she  don'  do  nuttin  all  day  long  in  her  room  but 
cry  an'  say  her  pra'rs,  prayin'  for  Marse  George, 
whar  dyin'  upsteairs  by  'count'  o'  not  knowin'  she 
love  him,  an'  I  tell  Nancy  how  he  honin'  all  de  time 
to  see  her,  an'  how  he  constant  cravin'  her  name. 

"  Well,  so  twuz,  tell  he  mos'  done  wyah  heself 
out ;  an'  jes  lay  dyah  wid  his  face  white  as  de  pillow, 
an'  he  gret  pitiful  eyes  rollin'  'bout  so  restless,  like  he 
still  lookin'  for  her  whar  he  all  de  time  callin'  her 
name,  an'  kyarn  git  'cross  dat  river  to  see. 

"  An'  one  evenin'  'bout  sunset  he  'peared  to  be 
gwine;  he  weaker'n  he  been  at  all,  he  ain'  able  to 
scuffle  no  mo',  an'  jes  layin'  dyah  so  quiet,  an'  presney 
he  say,  lookin'  mighty  wistful : 

" '  Edinburg,  I'm  goin'  to-night ;  ef  I  don't  gi' 
'cross  dis  time,  I'll  gin't  up.' 

"  Mr.  Braxton  wuz  stand  in'  nigh  de  head  o'  de  bed, 
an'  he  say,  '  Well,  by  Gord  !  he  shell  see  her ! ' — jes 
so.  An'  he  went  out  de  room,  an'  to  Miss  Charlotte 
do',  an'  call  her,  an'  tell  her  she  got  to  come,  ef  she 
don't,  he'll  die  dat  night ;  an'  fust  thing  I  know,  Miss 
Lucy  bring  Miss  Charlotte  in,  wid  her  face  right 
white,  but  jes  as  tender  as  a  angel's,  an'  she  come  an' 


"  Unc'  Edinburg"  95 

stan'  by  de  side  de  bed,  an'  lean  down  over  him,  an* 
call  he  name,  '  George  ! '-  -  jes  so. 

"  An'  Marse  George  he  ain'  answer ;  he  jes  look  at 
her  study  for  a  minute,  an*  den  he  forehead  got 
smooth,  an'  he  tun  he  eyes  to  me,  an'  say,  '  Edinburg, 
I'm  'cross.' " 


MEH   LADY 


MEH  LADY 

A  Story  of  the  War 

:  "Y  "T    TON'  dat  Phil  go  'stracted  when  he  gits  a 
\/\/        pike  on  de  een  o'  dis  feller !  " 

The  speaker  was  standing  in  the  dog- 
wood bushes  just  below  me,  for  I  was  on  the  embank- 
ment, where  the  little  foot-path  through  the  straggling 
pines  and  underbrush  ran  over  it.  He  was  holding 
in  his  hand  a  newly-peeled  cedar  fishing-pole,  while  a 
number  more  lay  in  the  path  at  the  foot  of  the  old 
redoubt. 

I  watched  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then 
said: 

"  Hello  !  Uncle,  what  are  you  doing  ? " 

"  Gittin*  fismV-poles  for  de  boys,  suh,"  he  an- 
swered promptly  and  definitely.  "  We's  'spectin' 
'em  soon."  Then  he  added  confidentially  : 

"  Dee  won'   have   none   from  nowhar  else  at  all, 


ioo  Meh  Lady 

suh  ;  dee  done  heah  dee  ma  tell  how  Marse  Phil  used 
to  git  poles  right  heah  'pon  dis  heah  ridge,  an'  dee 
oon'  fling  a  line  wid  nay  urr  sort  o'  pole  at  all.  Dat 
Phil  he  mo'  like  Marse  Phil  dan  he  like  he  pa; 
sometimes  I  think  he  Marse  Phil  done  come  back 
agin — he's  he  ve'y  spi't  an'  image." 

"Who  are  the  boys?"  I  asked,  taking  a  seat  on 
the  moss-covered  breastwork. 

"  Hi !  we  all's  boys — Meh  Lady's.  De  fish  run- 
nin'  good  now,  an'  dee'll  be  heah  toreckly.  Dee  up 
in  New  York  now,  but  me  an'  Hannah  got  a  letter 
from  'em  yistidy.  You  cyarn'  keep  'em  dyah  long 
after  fish  'gins  to  run  ;  no  suh,  dat  you  cyarn'.  Dat 
Phil,  I  boun',  studyin*  'bout  dis  pole  right  now." 
A  short  laugh  of  delight  followed  the  reflection. 

"  How  many  are  there  ? " 

"Fo'  on 'em,  suh,  wid  de  little  gal,  an'  she  jes'  like 
Meh  Lady  wuz  at  her  age,  tryin'  to  keep  up  wid  her 
brurrs,  an'  do  ev'ything  dee  do.  Lord  !  suh,  hit 
cyars  me  back  so  sometimes,  I  mos'  furgit  de  ain' 
nuver  been  no  war  nor  nuttin'.  Yes,  suh,  dee  tu'ns 
de  house  upside  down  when  dee  comes,  jes'  like 
Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady.  Um — m  !  [making  that 
peculiar  sound  so  indescribably  suggestive],  dee  used 
to  jes'  teoh  de  wull  to  pieces.  You  see,  after  Marse 


Meh  Lady  101 

Jeems  die'  an*  lef  Mistis  heah  wid  jes'  dem  two,  she 
used  to  gi'  'em  dee  head,  an'  dee  all  over  de  planta- 
tion. Meh  Lady  (de  little  white  Mistis,)  in  her 
little  white  apron  wid  her  curls  all  down  in  her  eyes, 
used  to  look  white  'mong  dem  urr  chil'ns  as  a  clump 
o*  blackberry  blossoms  'mong  de  blackberries.  I 
don'  keer  what  Hannah  do  wid  dat  hyah  it  wouldn* 
lay  smoove.  An'  her  eyes  !  I  b'lieve  she  laugh  mo' 
wid  'em  'n  wid  her  mouf.  She  wuz  de  'light  o'  dis 
plantation  !  When  she'd  come  in  you'  house  'twuz 
like  you'd  shove  back  de  winder  an'  let  piece  o*  de 
sun  in  on  de  flo' — you  could  almos'  see  by  her  !  An' 
Marse  Phil,  he  used  to  wyah  her !  I  don*  keer  whar 
you  see  one,  dyah  turr,  she  lookin'  up  at  him,  pushin' 
her  hyah  back  out  her  big  brown  eyes,  an'  tryin'  to 
do  jes'  what  he  do.  When  Marse  Phil  went  byah- 
footed,  she  had  to  go  byah-footed  too,  an'  she'd  foller 
him  down  to  the  mill-pond  th'oo  briers  an'  ev'ywhar, 
wid  her  little  white  foots  scratchin'  an'  gittin'  briers 
in  em;  but  she  ain'  mine  dat  so  he  ain'  lef'  her, 
Dat's  de  way  'twuz,  spang  tell  Marse  Phil  went  to 
college,  or  you  jes'  as  well  say,  tell  he  went  in  de 
army,  cause  he  home  ev'y  Christmas  an'  holiday  all 
de  time  he  at  de  univusity,  an'  al'ays  got  somebody 
or  nurr  wid  him.  You  cyarn'  keep  bees  'way  after 


102  Meh  Lady 

dee  fine  he  honeysuckle  bush,  an'  dem  young  bucks 
dee  used  to  be  roun'  her  constant.  Hit  look  like  ef 
she  drap  her  hankcher  hit  teck  all  on  em'  to  pick 
't  up.  Dee  so  perseverin'  (Mr.  Watkins  spressly), 
I  tell  Hannah  I  specks  one  on  'em  gwine  be  Mis- 
tis'  son-in-law;  but  Hannah  say  de  chile jes'  'joyin' 
herself  an'  projeckin'  wid  'em,  an'  ain'  love  none  on 
'em  hard  as  Marse  Phil.  An'  so  'twuz  !  Hannah 
know.  Her  cap'n  ain'  come  yit !  When  dee  cap'n 
come  dee  knows  it,  an'  ef  dee  don'  know  it  when  he 
come,  dee  know  it  p'intedly  when  he  go  'way. 

<f  We  wuz  rich  den,  quarters  on  ev'y  hill,  an'  nig- 
gers mo'  'n  you  could  tell  dee  names  ;  dee  used  to 
be  thirty  cradlers  in  de  harves'-fiel'  an'  binders  mo'  'n 
you  kin  count 

"  Den  Marse  Phil  went  in  de  war.  You  wuz  too 
young  to  know  'bout  dat,  marster  ?  Say  you  wuz  ? 
Dat's  so  !  "  (This  in  ready  acquiescence  to  my  reply 
that  every  Southerner  knew  of  the  war.)  "Well, 
hit  'peared  like  when  it  start  de  ladies  wuz  ambi- 
tiouser  for  it  mos'  'n  de  mens.  Um  !  dee  wuz  rank, 
sho*  'nough.  At  fust  dee  didn'  know  what  'twuz, 
hit  come  so  sudden. 

<c  One  mornin'  I  was  standin'  right  by  de  po'ch. 
an'  Marse  Phil  ride  up  in  de  yard.  I  see  him  time 


Meh  Lady  103 

he  tunned  de  curve  o'  de  avenue ;  I  knowed  he  seat, 
'cause  I  larn  him  to  ride :  dese  hands  set  him  up  on  de 
horse  fust  time  he  ever  tetch  de  saddle,  when  he  lit- 
tle fat  legs  couldn'  retch  to  de  little  skeurts.  Well, 
I  call  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady,  an'  dee  come  out  jes'  as 
he  gallop  up  in  de  yard.  He  speak  to  me,  an'  run 
up  de  gre't  steps,  an'  Mistis  teck  him  right  in  her 
arms,  an'  helt  him  farst,  an'  when  she  le'  him  go  her 
face  look  mighty  cu'yus ;  an'  when  dee  went  into  de 
house  I  notice  Marse  Phil  right  smart  taller' n  he  wuz 
at  Christmas,  an'  he  han'  'em  in  stately  like  he  pa. 

"  'Twuz  he  done  come  home  to  go  in  de  army,  an* 
he  done  stop  in  Richmon'  to  git  he  permission, 
'cause  he  feared  he  ma  oon'  let  him  go  bedout  dat ; 
an'  he  say,  Mr.  Watkins  an'  heap  o'  de  boys  done 
lef'  an'  gone  home  to  raise  companies.  Mistis — 
Hannah  say — grieve  might'ly  when  tain'  nobody  see 
her,  an'  she  got  her  do'  locked  heap,  sayin'  her  prars 
for  him ;  but  she  ain'  say  a  wud  'bout  he  goin',  she 
nor  Meh  Lady  nurr — dee  jes'  dat  ambitious  'bout  it. 
De  thorybreds  goes  wid  dee  heads  up  till  dee  drap, 
you  know. 

"  After  dat  you  ain'  see  nuttin'  but  gittin  ready ; 
cuttin'  an'  sewin',  an'  meckin'  tents,  an'  bandages,  an' 
uniforms,  an'  lint — 'twuz  wuss'n  when  dee  meckin'  up 


104  Meh  Lady 

de  folks'  winter  clo'es  !  an'  when  Marse  Phil  fetch  he 
s'o'de  home  an'  put  on  he  boots  an'  spurs  whar  I 
done  black,  an'  git  he  seat  on  Paladin,  twarn'  nay 
han'  on  de  place  but  what  say  Marse  Phil  'bleeged  to 
whup  'em  if  dee  come  close  enough. 

"Well,  so  he  went  off  to  de  war,  an'  Left-hand 
Torm  went  wid  him  to  wait  on  him  an'  ten'  to  de 
horses.  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  ain'  had  time  to  cry 
tell  dee  rid  roun*  de  curve,  an'  Marse  Phil  tu'n  an' 
wave  he  hat  to  'em  stan'in  dyah  on  de  po'ch ;  an'  den 
Mistis  tu'n  roun'  an'  walk  in  de  house  right  quick 
wid  her  mouf  wuckin',  an'  lock  herse'f  in  her  chamber, 
an'  Meh  Lady  set  down  on  the  steps,  right  in  de  sun, 
an'  cry  by  herse'f. 

"  Dat  wuz  de  een  o'  de  ole  times,  an'  dem  whar  ain' 
nuver  had  dee  foots  to  git  'quainted  wid  de  ground 
wuz  stomped  down  in  de  dut. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  suh,  he  come  back,"  said  he  presently, 
in  answer  to  a  question  from  me,  "  but  de  war  had 
been  gwine  on  for  mo'  'n  a  year  befo'  he  did.  Heaps 
o'  urr  soldiers  used  to  come ;  dee'd  kiver  up  de  gre't 
road  an'  de  plantation  sometimes,  an'  eat  up  ev'ything 
on  de  place.  But  Marse  Phil  he  ain'  nuver  git 
home ;  he  'bleeged  to  stay  to  keep  de  Yankeys  back ; 
he  wid  Gener'l  Jackson,  an'  he  fightin'  all  de  time ; 


Meh  Lady  105 

he  git  two  or  th'ee  balls  th'oo  he  clo'es  an'  he  cap — 
he  write  we  all  'bout  it ;  two  bring  de  blood,  but 
not  much,  he  say,  dee  jes'  sort  o'  bark  him.  Oh ! 
dee  wuz  jes'  p'intedly  notifyin'  him;  ev'y  chance 
dee'd  git  dee'd  plump  at  him  cuz  he  de  main  man 
same  as  when  you'd  plump  at  de  middle  man.  But 
dat  ain'  pester  him,  chile  ! 

"  But  one  mornin'  when  we  ain'  heah  from  him 
in  long  time  an'  think  he  up  in  de  valley  wid 
Stonewall  Jackson,  Marse  Phil  ride  right  up  in  de 
yard,  an'  Mistis'  face  light  up  to  see  him  tell  she  look 
mos'  like  a  young  ooman.  He  say  he  ain'  got  long 
to  stay,  dat  de  army  gwine  down  de  big  road,  an'  he 
'bleeged  to  git  right  back  to  he  bat'ry — he  jes'  ride 
'cross  to  see  he  ma  an'  Meh  Lady  an'  all  on  us,  he  say, 
an'  he  mighty  hongry,  'cause  he  ain'  had  nuttin'  to 
eat  sense  early  de  day  befo',  an'  he  want  me  to  feed 
Paladin  at  de  rack.  An'  Meh  Lady,  chile !  she  lef 
him  walkin'  'bout  in  de  house  wid  he  ma,  wid  he  arm 
roun'  her,  an'  twis'in'  he  mustache,  whar  showin'  lee- 
tie,  sense  he  sich  a  man,  an'  axin'  he  ma  don't  she 
think  it  a  fine  mustache,  dat  all  de  girls  say  'tis ;  an' 
axin'  'bout  ev'ybody ;  an'  she  come  out  an'  'tend  to 
gittin'  him  some'n'  to  eat  wid  her  own  hands,  an'  he 
sut'n'y  did  eat  hearty.  An'  den  he  come  'way,  an'  he 


106  Meh  Lady 

stoop  down  an'  kiss  he  ma  an'  Meh  Lady,  an'  tell 
'em  he  gwine  to  be  a  cun'l  one  o'  dese  days  ;  an'  Mis- 
tis  she  ain'  able  to  say  nuttin',  she  jes'  look  at  him  wist- 
ful as  he  went  down  de  steps,  den  she  run  down  after 
him  an'  ketch  him  after  he  git  on  de  groun',  an'  kiss  him 
an'  breck  out  cryin'.  She  say  she  ain'  begrudge  him, 
but  she  love  him  so  much.  He  kiss  her  mighty  sorf ' 
two  or  th'ee  times,  an'  den  she  let  him  go,  an'  he 
come  an'  git  on  he  horse  an'  rid  'way  at  a  gallop  out 
de  back  gate  wid  he  cap  on  de  side  he  head,  an'  dee 
went  in  de  house,  an'  dat  horse  warn'  go  up  to  de 
stable  right  den. 

"De  nex'  day  we  hear  de  cannons  'way  down  de 
country  jes'  like  thunder  right  study,  an'  Mistis  and 
Meh  Lady  dee  set  on  de  po'ch  an'  listen  to  'em  wid 
dee  face  mighty  solemn  all  day  long.  An'  dat  night 
'bout  de  fust  rooster-crow,  Left-hand  Torm  come 
home  on  de  gray,  an'  knock  at  Mistis'  winder,  an' 
say  Marse  Phil  done  shoot  in  de  breast,  an'  he  don't 
know  wherr  he  dead  or  not;  he  say  he  warn'  dead 
when  he  come  'way,  but  de  doctor  wuz  wid  him,  an' 
he  had  done  sont  him  after  he  ma  to  come  to  him  at 
once,  an'  he  had  been  ridin'  hard  all  night  long  ever 
sence  jes'  befo'  sunset;  an'  Torm  say  he  bat'ry  wuz 
de  fust  on  de  groun',  an'  he  post  it  on  de  aidge  o'  de 


Meh  Lady  107 

woods  in  a  oat-fiel',  like  cradlers,  you  know,  an*  he 
drive  de  enemy  out  dee  breas'wucks,  an'  Torm  say 
he  see  him  when  he  lead  he  bat'ry  'cross  de  oat-fiel', 
he  guns  all  six  in  a  strainin'  gallop,  an'  he  and  Pala- 
din in  de  lead  cheerin',  wid  bullits  an'  shells  hailin* 
all  roun'  him  ;  an'  he  wuz  de  fust  man  in  de  redoubt, 
Torm  say,  an'  he  fall  jes'  as  he  jump  he  horse  over,  an* 
den  he  lay  dyah  on  de  groun',  he  say,  an*  fight  he 
guns  tell  he  faint.  An'  Torm  say  de  gener'l  say  he'd 
ruther  been  Marse  Phil  fightin'  he  bat'ry  dat  day  den 
'a'  been  President  de  Confed'ate  States. 

"  Well,  suh,  Mistis  she  had  jump  out  o'  bed  de 
fust  step  o'  Torm  in  de  yard ;  she  hadn'  even  teck 
off"  her  clo'es,  an'  she  jes'  stand  still  like  she  ain'  heah 
good,  wid  her  face  lookin*  like  she  done  dead.  Meh 
Lady  she  tell  Torm  to  tell  me  to  git  de  kerridge  as 
soon  as  I  kin,  an*  to  tell  her  mammy  please  to  come 
dyah  quick. 

"  An'  when  day  brek  I  wuz  stand  in*  at  'de  gate  wid 
de  kerridge ;  done  feed  my  horses  an'  a  good  bag  o' 
clean  oats  in  de  boot.  Mistis  she  come  out  wid 
Meh  Lady  an'  Hannah,  an'  her  face  sut'n'y  wuz  griev- 
ious.  I  ain'  know  tell  I  see  de  way  she  look  how  it 
hu't  her,  but  I  been  see  dead  folks  look  better' n  she 
look  den.  All  she  say  wuz : 


io8  Meh  Lady 

" '  Try  an*  git  me  dyah,  Billy  ;'  an'  I  say,  *  Yes'm, 
I'm  gwine  to  ef  Gord'll  le'  me.*  I  did  get  her  dyah, 
too  ;  ef  I  didn'  meek  dem  horses  flinder  ! 

"  But  dead  mens  !  I  nuver  see  as  many  in  my  life 
as  I  see  dat  evenin*.  Amb'lances  an*  waggins  full  on 
'em,  an'  dem  whar  jes'  good  as  dead;  de  road  wuz 
chocked  up  wid  'em !  Dee  all  know  Marse  Phil 
bat'ry  ;  dee  say  hit  de  fust  in  de  fight  yistidy  an'  it 
cut  all  to  pieces  ;  an'  pres'n'y  a  gent'man  whar  I  ax 
as  he  gallop  past  me  rein  up  he  horse  an'  say  he 
know  him  well,  an'  he  wuz  shot  yistidy  an'  left  on  de 
fiel'.  He  done  teck  off  he  cap  when  he  see  Mistis  an' 
Meh  Lady  in  de  kerridge,  an'  he  voice  drapt  mighty 
low,  an'  he  say  Marse  Phil  wuz  shot  'bout  fo'  o'clock 
leadin'  he  bat'ry,  an'  he  did  splendid  wuck. 

"  He  voice  sort  o'  'passionate,  an'  he  face  so  piti- 
ful when  he  say  dat,  I  know  'tain'  no  hope  to  save 
him,  an'  ef  I  git  Mistis  dyah  in  time,  dat's  all. 

"  'Drive  on  quick',  says  Mistis,  an'  I  druv  on:  I 
done  meek  up  my  mine  to  git  she  an'  Meh  Lady  to 
Marse  Phil,  whar  I  'sponsible  for  dat  night,  ef  Gord'll 
le'  me.  An'  I  did,  too,  mon !  I  see  de  soldiers  all 
'long  de  road  look  at  me,  an'  some  on  'em  holler  to 
me  dat  I  cyarn'  go  dat  away  ;  but  I  ain'  pay  no  'ten- 
tion  to  'em,  I  jes'  push  on  ;  an'  pres'n'y  risin'  a  little 


Meh  Lady  109 

ridge  I  see  de  house  de  gent'man  done  tell  me  'bout, 
settin'  in  de  oat-fiel'  'bout  a  Haifa  mile  ahead,  an'  I 
jes'  pushin'  for  it,  when  th'ee  or  fo'  mens  standin' 
dyah  in  de  road  'yant  de  ridge,  a  little  piece  befo'  me, 
say,  '  Halt ! '  I  ain'  pay  no  'tention  to  'em,  jes'  drive 
on  so,  an*  dee  holler,  'Halt*  ag'in;  an'  when  I  ain' 
stop  den  nuther,  jes'  drive  on  right  study,  a  speckle- 
face  feller  run  up  an'  ketch  Remus'  head,  an'  anurr 
one  done  p'int  he  gun  right  at  me.  I  say,  s  Whynt' 
you  le'  go  de  horse,  mon!  ain'  you  got  no  better  sense'n 
to  ketch  holt  Mistis'  horses  ?  Juckin'  dat  horse*  mouf 
dat  way  !  Le'  go  de  horse'  head,  don*  you  heah  me  ? ' 

"  I  clar  !  ef  I  warn'  dat  outdone,  I  wuz  jes'  'bout  to 
wrop  my  whrup  'roun'  him,  when  Mistis  open  de  do' 
an'  step  out.  She  say  she  wan'  go  on  ;  dee  say  she 
cyarn'  do  it ;  den  she  say  she  gwine :  dat  her  son 
dying'  dyah  in  dat  house  an'  she  gwine  to  him.  She 
talk  mighty  sorf  but  mighty  'terminated  like.  Dee 
sort  o'  reason  wid  her,  but  she  jes'  walk  on  by  wid 
her  head  up,  an'  tell  me  to  foller  her,  an'  dat  I  did, 
mon  !  an'  lef  'em  dyah  in  de  road  holdin'  dee  ole 
gun.  De  whole  army  couldn'  'a'  keep  her  fum  Marse 
Phil  not  den. 

"  I  got  to  de  house  toreckly  an'  drive  up  nigh  as 
I  could  fur  de  gre't  trenches  'cross  de  yard,  whar 


no  Meh  Lady 

look  like  folks  been  ditchin'.  A  gent'man  come  to 
de  do',  an'  Mistis  ax,  'Is  he  'live  yet?'  He  say, 
'Yes,  still  alive;'  an'  she  say,  'Where?'  an'  went 
right  in  an'  Meh  Lady  wid  her ;  an'  I  heah  say  he 
open  he  eyes  as  she  went  in,  an'  sort  o'  smile,  an' 
when  she  kneel  down  an'  kiss  him  he  whisper  he  ready 
to  go  den,  an'  he  wuz,  too. 

"He  went  dat  night  in  he  mother'  arms,  an'  Meh 
Lady  an'  Hannah  at  he  side,  like  I  tole  'em  I  was 
gwine  do  when  I  start  fum  home  dat  mornin',  an'  he 
wuz  jes'  as  peaceful  as  a  baby.  He  tole  he  ma  when 
he  wuz  dyin'  dat  he  had  try  to  do  he  duty,  an'  dat  'twuz 
jes'  like  ole  times,  when  he  used  to  go  to  sleep  in  her 
lap  in  he  own  room,  wid  her  arms  'roun'  him.  Mis- 
tis sen'  me  fur  a  amb'lance  dat  night,  an'  we  put 
him  in  de  coffin  next  mornin'  an'  start,  'cause  Mistis 
she  gwine  cyar  Marse  Phil  home  an'  lay  him  in  de 
gyardin,  whar  she  kin  watch  him. 

"We  travel  all  day  an'  all  night,  an'  retch 
home  'bout  sunrise,  an'  den  we  had  to  dig  de 
grave. 

"  An'  when  we  got  home  Mistis  she  had  de  coffin 
brought  in,  and  cyared  him  in  he  own  room  while  we 
waitin',  and  she  set  in  dyah  all  day  long  wid  him,  and 
he  look  like  a  boy  sleepin'  dyah  so  young  in  he  little 


Meh  Lady 


in 


gray  jacket  wid  he  s'o'de  'cross  he  breas'.  We  bury 
him  in  de  gyardin  dat  evenin',  and  dyah  warn'  'nough 
gent'mens  lef '  in  de  county  to  be  he  pall-bearers,  so 
de  hands  on  de  place  toted  him.  And  it  ease'  me 
might/ly  to  git  meh  arm  onder  him  right  good,  like 
when  he  wuz  a  little  chap  runnin'  'roun'  callin'  me 
'  Unc'  Billy,'  and  pesterin'  me  to  go  fishin'.  And  de 
gener'l  write  Mistis  a  letter  and  say  de  Confede'cy 
moan  he  loss,  and  he  done  meek  him  a  cun'l  in  de 
oat-fiel'  de  day  he  wuz  shot,  and  hit's  dat  on  he  tomb- 
stone now;  you  kin  go  dyah  in  de  gyardin  an'  read  it. 

"  And  we  hang  he  s'o'de  on  de  wall  in  he  own  room 
over  de  fireplace,  and  dyah  it  hang  now  for  to  show 
to  de  boys  what  a  soldier  he  wuz. 

"  Well,  after  dat,  things  sut'n'y  went  bad.  De 
house  looked  dat  lonesome  I  couldn'  byah  to  look  at 
it;  ev'ything  I  see  look'  like  Marse  Phil  jes'  done 
put  it  down,  or  jes'  comin'  after  it. 

"  Mistis  and  Meh  Lady  dee  wuz  in  deep  mo'nin', 
of  co'se,  and  it  look  like  de  house  in  mo'nin',  too. 
And  Mistis  her  hyah  got  whiter  and  whiter.  De  on'y 
thing  'peared  to  gi'  her  any  peace  o'  mine  wuz  settin' 
in  Marse  Phil'  room.  She  used  to  set  dyah  all  day, 
sewin'  for  de  soldiers.  She  ain'  nuver  let  nobody 
tetch  dat  room  ;  hit  al'ays  sort  o'  secret  to  her  after 


112 

dat.  And  Meh  Lady  she  took  holt  de  plantation,  an' 
ole  Billy  wuz  her  head  man. 

"  Dat's  de  way  'twuz  for  two  years  tell  mos'  in  de 
summer.  Den — 

"  Hit  happen  one  Sunday :  I  wuz  jes'  come  out 
meh  house  after  dinner,  gwine  to  de  stable.  I  warn* 
studyin'  'bout  Yankeys,  I  wuz  jes'  studyin'  'bout 
how  peaceable  ev'ything  wuz,  when  I  heah  somebody 
hollerin',  and  heah  come  two  womens  'cross  de  hill 
from  de  quarters,  hard  as  dee  could  tyah,  wid  dee 
frocks  jes'  flying.  One  o'  de  maids  in  de  yard  de 
first  to  ketch  de  wud,  an'  she  say,  '  De  Yankeys !  ' 
And  'fo'  Gord  !  de  wuds  warn'  out  her  mouf  befo'  de 
whole  top  o'  de  hill  wuz  black  wid  'em.  Yo'  could 
see  'em  gallopin'  and  heah  de  s'o'des  rattlin'  spang 
at  de  house.  Meh  heart  jump  right  up  in  meh  mouf 
But  I  step  back  in  meh  house  and  got  meh  axe.  And 
when  I  come  out,  de  black  folks  wuz  all  run  out  dee 
houses  in  de  back  yard,  talkin'  and  predictifyin';  and 
some  say  dee  gwine  in  de  house  and  stan'  behin' 
Meh  Lady  ;  and  some  say  dee  gwine  git  onder  de 
beds  ;  and  some  wuz  pacifyin'  'em,  and  sayin',  dee  ain' 
gwi'  do  nuttin'.  I  jes'  parse  long  by  'em  right  quick, 
and  went  'cross  de  yard  to  de  house,  and  I  put  meh 
head  in  Marse  Phil'  room  whar  dee  settin',  and  say : 


Meh  Lady  "3 

c<  'De  Yankeys  yander  comin'  down  de  hill.' 
"  You  ought  to  'a*  seen  dee  face.  Meh  Lady' 
hands  drapt  in  her  lap,  an*  she  looked  at  Mistis  so 
anxious,  she  skeer'  me.  But  do*  Mistis'  face  tu'n 
mighty  white,  't  warn*  mo'  'n  a  minute.  She  riz 
right  quiet,  and  her  head  wuz  jes'  as  straight  as  Meh 
Lady.  She  says  to  her  : 

"  f  Hadn'  you  better  stay  here  ? ' 
"  c  No,'  says  she,  '  I  will  go  with  you/ 
"  f  Come  on,'  says  she,  and  dee  walked  out  de  do', 
and  locked  it  behine  her,  and  Mistis  put  de  key  in 
her  pocket. 

"  Jes'  as  she  got  dyah,  dee  rid  into  de  yard,  an*  in 
a  minute  it  wuz  jes'  as  full  on  'em  as  a  bait-go'd  is  o' 
wurrms,  ridin'  'ginst  one  anurr,  an'  hollerin'  an' 
laughin'  an'  cussin';  an'  outside  de  yard,  an'  todes  de 
stables,  dee  wuz  jes'  swarmin'.  Dee  ain'  ax  nobody  no 
odds  'bout  nuttin',  an'  as  to  key,  dee  ain'  got  no  use 
fur  dat ;  jes'  bu'st  a  do'  down  quicker'n  you  kin 
onlock  it.  Dee  wuz  in  dee  smoke-house  an'  de  store- 
room quicker'n  I  been  tellin'  you  'bout  it.  But  dat 
ain'  'sturb  Mistis,  nor  Meh  Lady  nurr.  Dee  wuz 
standin'  in  de  front  do'  jes'  as  study  as  ef  dee  wuz 
waitin'  fur  somebody  whar  come  to  dinner.  Dee  come 
pourin'  up  de  steps  an'  say  dee  gwine  th'oo  de  house. 


ii4  Meh  Lady 

" '  There  is  no  one  in  there,'  said  Mistis. 

"  '  What  you  doin'  on  de  po'ch  ? '  says  one,  sort  o* 
impident  like,  wid  a  thing  on  he  shoulder. 

" '  I  always  receive  my  visitors  at  my  front  do'/ 
says  Mistis. 

" '  Don't  you  invite  'em  in  ? '  says  he,  sort  o' 
laughin'  an'  pushin'  by  her.  Jes'  den  I  heah  a  noige, 
an'  we  tu'n  roun',  an'  de  hall  wuz  right  full  on  'em — 
done  come  in  de  back  do'.  Mistis  tunned  right  roun' 
an'  walk  into  de  house  right  quick,  puttin'  Meh 
Lady  'long  befo'  her.  Right  straight  th'oo  'em  all 
she  walk,  an'  up  to  Marse  Phil'  room  do',  whar  she 
stan'  wid  her  back  'g'inst  it,  holdin'  de  side.  Dee 
wuz  squandered  all  over  de  house  by  dis  time  an* 
teckin'  ev'ything  dee  want  an'  didn'  want,  an'  what 
dee  didn'  teck  dee  wuz  cuttin'  up.  But  soon  as  dee 
see  Mistis  at  Marse  Phil  do',  dee  come  right  up  to 
her. 

"  *  I  want  to  go  in  dyah/  says  one — de  same  one 
whar  done  spoke  so  discontemptious  to  de  Mistis  on 
de  po'ch. 

"  '  You  cyarn'  do  it,'  says  Mistis. 

"  c  Well,  I'm  goin'  to,'  says  he. 

"  '  You  are  not,'  says  Mistis,  lookin'  at  him  right 
study,  wid  her  head  up  an'  her  eyes  blazin'.  I  had 


Meh  Lady  115 

my  axe  in  my  han',  an'  I  wuz  mighty  skeered,  but  I 
know  ef  he  had  lay  his  han'  on  de  Mistis  I  was  gwine 
split  him  wide  open.  He  know  better' n  to  tetch  her, 
do\  He  sort  o'  parly,  like  he  warn'  swade  her,  an* 
all  de  urrs  stop  an'  listen. 

"  *  Who's  in  dyah  ? '  says  he. 

"  'No  one,'  says  Mistis. 

"  *  Well,  what's  in  dyah  ? '  says  he. 

"  '  The  memory  of  my  blessed  dead,'  says  Mistis. 
She  speak  so  solemn,  hit  'peared  to  kind  'o  stall  him, 
an'  he  give  back  an'  mumble  some'n'.  Pres'n'y  do* 
anurr  one  come  up  fum  nigh  de  do'  an'  say  to  Mistis : 

"  '  Where  is  you'  son  ?     We  want  him.' 

"  '  Beyond  your  reach,'  says  Mistis,  her  voice  kine 
o'  breakin',  an'  Meh  Lady  bu'st  out  cryin'. 

"  *  His  grave  is  in  de  gyardin','  she  says,  wid  her 
hankcher  to  her  eyes. 

"Gord  !  suh  !  I  couldn'  stan'  no  mo'.  I  jes'  cotch 
a  grip  on  my  axe,  an'  I  ain'  know  what  mout  'a'  hap- 
pen', but  he  teck  off  he  hat  an'  tu'n  'way.  An'  jes' 
den  sich  a  racket  riz  nigh  de  do',  I  thought  must  be 
some  on  'em  got  to  killin'  one  'nurr.  I  heah  some- 
body's voice  rahin'  an'  pitchin'  and  callin'  'em  thieves 
an'  hounds,  an'  in  a  minute,  whack,  whack,  thump, 
thump,  I  heah  de  licks  soun'  like  hittin'  on  barrel- 


n6  Meh  Lady 

head,  an'  I  see  a  s'o'de  flyin'  like  buggy-wheel 
spokes,  an'  de  men  in  de  hall  dee  jes'  squander;  an' 
as  de  larst  one  jump  offde  po'ch,  a  young  gent' man 
tunned  an'  walked  in  de  do',  puttin'  he  s'o'de  back  in 
he  scabbard.  When  he  got  't  in,  he  teck  off  he  cap, 
an'  walkin'  'bout  half-way  up  to  we  all,  he  say  : 

"  ( I  kinnot  'pologize  'nough,  madam,  for  dese  out'- 
ages ;  dee  officers  ought  to  be  shot  for  toleratin'  it. 
It  is  against  all  orders.'  , 

"  f  I  don't  know;  it  is  our  first  'speeyence,'  says 
Mistis.  '  We  are  much  ondebted  to  you,  though, 
suh.' 

"  f  Mayn't  I  interduce  myself? '  says  he,  comin'  up 
a  little  closer  to  we  all,  an'  meckin'  anurr  bow  very 
grand.  {  I  think  I  may  claim  to  be  a  kinsman  at 
least  of  dis  my  young  Southern  cousin  here,'  (meckin' 
a  bow  to  Meh  Lady  whar  wuz  standin'  lookin'  at 
him);  f  I'm  a  half  Virginian  myself:  I  am  Captain 
Wilton,  the  son  of  Colonel  Churchill  Wilton,  of  de 
ole  army,'  says  he. 

"  *  It  is  impossible,'  says  Mistis,  bowin'  low'n 
him.  f  Churchill  Wilton  was  a  Virginian,  do'  he  lived 
at  de  Norf;  he  wuz  my  husband's  cousin  an'  my 
dear  friend.'  (He  come  from  New  York  or  some- 
whar,  an'  he  had  been  co'tin'  Mistis  same  time  Mars- 


Meh  Lady  117 

ter  co't  her.  I  know  him  well :  he  gi'  me  a  yal- 
ler  satin  weskit ;  a  likely  gent'man  too,  but  Mars- 
ter  beat  him.  You  know  he  gwine  do  dat.)  *  But 
you  cannot  be  his  son,  nor  a  Virginian ;  Virginians 
never  invade  Virginia/  says  Mistis. 

"  *  But  I  am,  neverdeless,'  says  he,  sort  o'  smilin'; 
'  an'  I  have,  as  a  boy,  often  hear'  him  speak  of  you 
as  our  kinsmen.' 

" '  We  claim  no  kinsmen  among  Virginia's  ene- 
mies,' says  Meh  Lady,  speakin'  fur  de  fust  time, 
wid  her  eyes  flashin',  an'  teckin'  holt  of  Mistis'  han', 
an'  raisin'  herse'f  up  mighty  straight.  She  wuz 
standin'  by  her  ma,  I  tell  you ;  dee  bofe  had  de  same 
sperit — de  chip  don'  fly  fur  fum  de  stump.  But  he 
wuz  so  likely-lookin',  standin'  dyah  in  de  gre't  hall 
meckin'  he  bow,  an'  sayin'  he  Cap'n  Wilton  ob  de 
ole  army,  I  mos'  think  she'd  'a'  gi'n  in  ef  it  hadn' 
been  fur  dat  blue  uniform  an'  dat  s'o'de  by  he  side. 
De  wud  seemed  to  hut  him  mons'ous  do',  an'  he  raise 
he  head  up  mighty  like  we  all  folks  when  dee  gittin'  out- 
done. Mistis,  she  add  on  to  Meh  Lady,  an'  answer 
he  'quest  'bout  dinner.  Ez  he  had  come  to  teck  pos- 
session, says  she,  de  whole  place  wuz  his,  an'  he 
could  give  what  orders  he  please,  on'y  she  an'  Meh 
Lady  would  'quest  to  be  excused ,  an'  wid  dat  she  took 


n8  Meh  Lady 

Meh  Lady'  han',  an'  wid  a  gre't  bow  done  start  to 
sweep  by  him.  But  dee  am'  git  ahead  o'  him;  befo' 
dee  git  de  wuds  out  dee  mouf,  he  meek  a  low  bow 
hisse'f  an'  say,  he  beg  dee  pardin,  he  cyarn'  intrude 
on  ladies,  an'  wid  dat  he  sort  o'  back  right  stately  to 
de  front  do',  an'  wid  anurr  bow  done  gone,  he  saber 
clam'rin  down  de  steps.  I  clar',  I  wuz  right  sorry 
fur  him,  an'  I  b'lieve  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  dee  wuz 
too,  'cause  he  sut'n'y  did  favor  Marse  Phil  when  he 
r'ar  he  head  up  so  tall,  an'  back  out  dat  do'  so  gran'. 
Meh  Lady  mine  smite  her  good,  'cause  she  tu'n  to  me 
an'  tell  me  to  go  an'  tell  'Lijah  to  see  ef  he  couldn' 
git  him  someV,  an'  call  him,  an'  pres'n'y  she  come 
in  de  dinin'-room  lookin'  herse'f.  After  'Lijah  set 
de  place  do',  an'  went  out  to  look  fur  him,  dyah  wuz 
a  soldier  standin'  at  ev'y  po'ch  right  solum,  an'  anurr 
one  at  de  kitchin ;  an'  when  we  come  to  fine  out,  dee 
wuz  guards  Cap'n  Wilton  done  pos'  dyah  to  p'teck 
de  house,  but  he  done  gone  'long,  so  I  give  he  snack 
to  de  guards. 

"  Well,  dee  teck  mos'  all  de  corn,  dat  our  folks 
done  lef,  out  de  corn-house,  an'  after  a  while  mos' 
on  'em  bridle  up  an'  went  'long,  an'  den  at  larst  de 
guards  dee  went  'long  'hind  de  turrs ;  an'  de  larst 
one  hadn'  hardly  got  to  de  een  de  avenue  when  heah 


•'  *  We  claim  no  kinsmen  among  1  rirginic?s   enemies]  say$ 
Me/i  Lady." 


Meh  Lady  119 

come  over  de  hill  some  o'  our  mens  ridin'  'long  de 
road  fum  turr  way.  Meh  Lady  wuz  standin'  in  de 
yard  looking  mighty  'strustid  at  de  way  dee  done  do 
de  place,  'cause  dee  had  done  teoh  it  all  to  pieces  ; 
an'  her  eyes  light  up  at  de  sight  o'  our  men,  an'  she 
sort  o'  wave  her  hankcher  to  'em,  an'  dee  wuz  comin' 
down  de  hill  turr  side  de  creek  right  study,  when,  as 
Gord  would  have  it,  we  heah  a  horse  foot  flyin',  an' 
right  fum  turr  way,  right  down  de  avenue,  he  horse 
in  a  lather,  come  dat  same  young  gent'man,  Cap'n 
Wikjn.  Our  mens  see  him  at  de  same  time,  an'  start 
to  gallopin'  down  de  hill  to  git  him.  He  ain'  mine  'em 
do';  he  jes'  gallop  up  to  de  gate  an'  pull  a  letter  out 
he  pocket.  Meh  Lady  she  was  so  consarned  'bout 
him,  she  sort  o'  went  todes  him,  callin'  to  him  to  do 
pray  go  'way.  He  ain'  mine  dat ;  he  jes'  set  still  on 
he  nick-tail  bay,  an'  hole  he  paper  todes  her  right 
patient,  tell  she  run  down  de  walk  close  up  to  him, 
beggin'  him  to  go  'way.  Den  he  teck  off  he  cap  an' 
ben'  over,  an'  present  her  de  paper  he  got,  an'  tell  her 
hit  a  letter  he  got  fum  Gen'l  McClenan,  he  done  come 
back  to  gi'  her.  Meh  Lady,  chile !  she  so  busy  beg- 
gin' him  to  go  'way  an'  save  hisse'f,  she  done  forgit 
to  thank  him.  She  jes'  pleadin'  fur  him  to  go,  an' 
hit  'pear  like  de  mo'  she  beg,  de  mo'  partic'ler  he 


120  Meh  Lady 

settin'  dyah  at  de  gate  lookin'  down  at  her,  not  noticin* 
our  mens,  wid  a  sort  o'  curisome  smile  on  he  face, 
tell  jes'  as  our  mens  gallop  up  in  one  side  de  yard, 
an'  call  to  him  to  s'render,  he  say,  4Good-by,'  an' 
tu'nned  an'  lay  he  gre't  big  bay  horse'  foot  to  de 
groun'.  Dee  shoot  at  him  an'  ride  after  him,  an' 
Meh  Lady  she  holler  to  'em  not  to  shoot  him ;  but 
she  needn't  fluster  herse'f,  jes'  as  well  try  to  shoot  de 
win',  or  ride  to  ketch  a  bud,  de  way  dat  horse  run. 
He  wuz  a  flyer !  He  run  like  he  jes'  start,  an'  de 
Cap'n  done  ride  him  thirty  miles  sence  dinner  to  git 
dat  paper  from  Gen'l  McClenan  fur  Meh  Lady. 

"  Well,  suh,  dat  night  de  plantation  wuz  fyah  'live 
wid  soldiers— our  mens:  dee  wuz  movin'  all  night 
long,  jes'  like  ants,  an'  all  over  todes  de  gre't  road  de 
camp-fires  look  like  stars ;  an'  nex'  mornin'  dee  wuz 
movin'  'fo'  daylight,  gwine  'long  down  de  road,  an* 
'bout  dinner-time  hit  begin,  an'  from  dat  time  tell 
'way  in  de  night,  right  down  yander  way,  de  whole  uth 
wuz  rockin'.  You'd  a-thought  de  wull  wuz  splittin' 
open,  an'  sometimes  ef  you'd  listen  right  good  you 
could  heah  'em  yellin',  like  folks  in  de  harves'-fiel' 
hollerin'  after  a  ole  hyah. 

"  De  nex'  day  we  know  we  all  done  scotch  'em, 
an'  dee  begin  to  bring  de  wounded  an'  put  'em 


Meh  Lady  121 

in  folks'  houses.  Dee  bring  'em  in  amb'lances  an* 
stretchers,  tell  ev'y  room  in  de  house  wuz  full  up, 
'sep'  on'y  Mistis'  chamber  an'  Meh  Lady'  room  an' 
Marse  Phil'  room.  An'  dyah  wuz  de  grettest  cuttin' 
up  o'  sheets  an'  linen  an*  things  fur  bandages  an'  lint 
you  ever  see.  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  even  cut  up  dee 
under-clo'es  fur  lint,  'cause  you  know  dee  wuz  'bleeged 
to  have  linen,  an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  teoh  up  dee 
underclo'es  tell  dee  got  smack  out.  Hannah  had  to- 
go  'long  afterwards  an'  gi'  'em  some  dee  done  gi'  her. 
Well,  so  'twuz,  de  house  wuz  full  like  a  hospittle, 
an'  doctors  gwine  in  and  out,  an'  ridin'  back'ards  an' 
for'ards,  an'  cuttin'  off  legs  an'  arms,  an'  hardly  got 
time  to  tu'n  'roun'.  'Twuz  mighty  hard  on  Meh 
Lady,  but  she  had  grit  to  stan'  it.  Hi !  de  ve'y 
mornin'  after  de  battle  a  doctor  come  out  de  room 
whar  a  wounded  gent' man  wuz,  an'  ketch  sight  o' 
Meh  Lady  parsin'  th'oo  de  hall,  an'  say,  *  I  want  you 
to  help  me,'  an'  she  say,  c  What  you  want  me  to  do  ? ' 
an'  he  say,  *  You  got  to  hold  a  man's  arm,'  an'  she 
say,  *  To  bandage  it? '  an'  he  say,  4No,  to  cut  it  off;' 
an'  she  say  she  cyarn'  do  it,  an'  he  say  she  kin  an'  she 
must.  Den  she  say  she'll  faint,  an'  he  say  ef  she  do 
he'll  die,  an'  he  ain'  got  a  minute  to  spyah  now.  Den 
ef  she  ain'  walk  right  in  an'  hole  he  arm,  tell  de  doc- 


122  Meh  Lady 

tor  cut  't  off  an'  dress  it,  an'  den  widout  a  wud  she 
say,  '  Is  you  done  ? '  an'  he  say,  c  Yes;'  an'  she  walk 
out  an'  cross  de  yard  to  her  mammy'  house  right 
quick,  an'  fall  down  right  dead  on  de  flo'.  I  wan' 
dyah,  but  Hannah  sut'n'y  wuz  outdone  'bout  dat 
thing.  An',  you  know,  she  ain'  nuver  let  Mistis 
know  a  wud  'bout  it,  not  nuver — she  so  feared  she'd 
'sturb  her !  Dat's  de  blood  she  wuz ;  an'  dem  wuz 
times  folks  wa'n't  dem  kind  !  Well,  dat  same  evenin' 
— de  day  after  de  battle — Meh  Lady  she  ax  one  de 
doctors  ef  many  o'  de  cav'lry  wuz  into  de  fight,  an' 
he  say  she'd  think  so  ef  she'd  been  dyah ;  dat  de 
cav'lry  had  meek  some  splendid  charges  bofe  sides ; 
dat  de  Yankee  cav'lry  had  charge  th'oo  a  bresh  o' 
pines  on  de  'streme  left  spang  up  'g'inst  our  breas'- 
wucks,  an'  a  young  Yankee  cap'n  in  de  front  o'  all, 
wid  he  cap  on  he  s'o'de,  on  a  nick-tail  bay,  had 
lead  'em,  an'  had  spur  he  horse  jam  up  to  our 
line,  an'  bofe  had  fall  up  'g'inst  de  breas'wucks. 
I  tell  you  he  sut'n'y  wuz  pleased  wid  him ;  he 
say  he  nuver  see  a  braver  feller ;  he  had  made  a 
p'int  to  try  an'  save  him  (an'  he'd  like  to  'a'  had  dat 
horse  too,  he  say),  but  he  was  shot  so  bad  he  fear'd 
'tain'  much  show  fur  him,  as  he  sort  o'  knocked  out 
he  senses  when  he  fall  as  well  as  shot.  An'  he  say, 


Meh  Lady  123 

*  He  sich  a  likely  young  feller,  an'  meek  sich  a  splen- 
did charge,  I  teck  a  letter  out  he  pocket  to  'dentify 
him,  an'  heah  'tis  now,'  he  says;  '  Cap'n  Shelly 
Wilton,'  he  says,  handin'  it  to  Meh  Lady. 

"  When  he  say  dat,  Meh  Lady  ain'  say  nuttin', 
an'  Mistis  she  tu'n  'roun'  an'  walk  in  Marse  Phil' 
room  right  quick  an'  shet  de  do'  easy.  Den  pres'n'y 
she  come  out  an'  ax  Meh  Lady  to  have  de  kerridge 
gitten,  an'  den  she  walk  up  to  de  doctor,  an'  ax  him 
won'  he  go  down  wid  her  to  de  place  whar  he  lef '  dat 
young  Yankee  cap'n  an'  bring  him  dyah  to  her  house. 
An'  she  say,  he  her  husband'  cousin,  an'  she  onder 
obligations  to  him.  So  dee  went,  honey,  down  to  de 
battle-fiel'  all  roun'  de  road,  an'  'twuz  mos'  wuss'n 
when  we  all  went  down  to  de  Peninsular  after  Marse 
Phil,  de  road  wuz  full  of  wounded  mens ;  an'  when 
we  fine  him  'twuz  right  dyah  at  dat  gap — he  fall  right 
dyah  whar  you  settin';  an'  do'  all  say  he  'bleeged  to 
die,  Mistis  she  had  him  tecken  up  an'  brung  right  to 
her  house.  An'  when  we  got  home  she  lead  de  way 
an'  went  straight  long  th'oo  de  hall ;  an',  befo'  Gord  ! 
she  opened  de  do'  herse'f  an'  cyar  him  right  in  an'  lay 
him  right  down  into  Marse  Phil'  baid.  Some  say  hit 
'cause  he  marster'  kinfolk ;  but  Hannah,  she  know, 
an'  she  say  hit  'cause  Mistis  grievin'  'bout  Marse 


124  Meh  Lady 

Phil.  I  am'  know  huccome  'tis ;  but  dyah  into 
Marse  Phil'  baid  dee  put  him,  an'  dyah  he  stay  good, 
an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  to  nuss  him  same  like  he 
wuz  Marse  Phil  hisse'f.  'Twuz  a  spell  do',  I  tell  you  ! 
Dyah  wuz  all  de  turrs  well  an'  gone  befo'  he  know 
wherr  he  dead  or  'live.  Mistis,  after  de  battle,  an' 
all  de  'citement  sort  o'  let  down  ag'in,  an'  had  to  keep 
her  room  right  constant,  and  all  de  nussin'  an'  waitin' 
fall  on  Meh  Lady  an'  Hannah,  an'  dee  sut'n'y  did  do 
dee  part  faithful  by  all  on  'em,  till  fust  one  an'  den 
anurr  went  away ;  cause,  you  know,  we  couldn'  tell 
when  de  Yankees  wuz  gwine  to  come  an'  drive  our 
mens  back,  an'  our  soldiers  didn'  want  to  be  tecken 
pris'ners,  an'  dee  moved  'way.  An'  pres'n'y  dyah 
warn'  none  lef  but  jes'  Cap'n  Wilton,  an'  he  still 
layin'  dyah  in  de  baid,  tossin'  an'  talkin',  wid  he  eyes 
wide  open  an'  am'  know  nuttin'.  De  doctor  say  he 
wound  better,  but  he  got  fever,  an'  he  cyarn'  hole  out 
much  longer ;  say  he'd  been  dead  long  ago  but  he  so 
strong.  An'  one  night  he  went  to  sleep,  an'  de  doc- 
tor come  over  fum  camp  an'  say  he  wan'  nuver  gwine 
wake  no  mo'  but  jes'  once  he  reckon,  jes'  a  byah 
chance  ef  he  ain'  'sturbed.  An'  he  ax  Meh  Lady  kin 
she  keep  him  'sleep  she  reckon,  an'  she  say  she'll  try, 
an'  she  did,  mon.  Mistis  she  wuz  sick  in  baid  an' 


"O/tf  she  sufn'y  did  pomper  him,  rcadirf  to  him  out  o> 
books,  an*  set  tin  by  him  on  dc  /0V//." 


dyah  am'  nobody  to  nuss  him,  skusin'  Meh  Lady,  an* 
she  set  by  dat  baid  all  dat  night  an'  fan  him  right 
easy  all  night  long ;  all  night  long,  all  night  long  she 
fan  him,  an'  jes'  befo'  sun-up  he  open  he  eyes  an* 
look  at  her.  Hannah  she  jes'  gone  in  dyah,  thinkin* 
de  chile  tire'  to  death,  an'  she  say  jes'  as  she  tip  in  he 
open  he  eyes  an'  look  at  Meh  Lady  so  cu'yus,  settin' 
dyah  by  him  watchin';  den  he  shet  he  eyes  a  little 
while  an'  sleep  a  little  mo';  den  he  open  'em  an* 
look  ag'in  an'  sort  o'  smile  like  he  know  her;  an* 
den  he  went  to  sleep  good,  an'  Hannah  she  tuck  de 
fan  an'  sont  de  chile  to  her  own  room  to  baid.  Yes, 
suh,  she  did  dat  thing,  she  did !  An'  I  heah  him  say 
afterwards,  when  he  wake  up,  all  he  could  think  'bout 
wuz  he  done  git  to  heaven. 

"  Well,  after  dat,  Meh  Lady  she  lef '  him  to  Mistis 
an'  Hannah,  an'  pres'n'y  he  git  able  to  be  helped  ouc 
on  de  big  po'ch  an'  kivered  up  wid  a  shawl  an'  things 
in  a  big  arm-cheer.  An'  'cause  Mistis  she  mos'  took 
to  her  baid,  an'  keep  her  room  right  constant,  Meh 
Lady  she  got  to  entertain  him.  Oh  !  she  sut'n'y  did 
pomper  him,  readin'  to  him  out  o'  books,  an'  settin 
by  him  on  de  po'ch.  You  see,  he  done  git  he  pay- 
role,  an'  she  'bleeged  to  teck  keer  on  him  den,  'cause 
she  kind  o'  'sponsible  for  him,  an'  he  sut'n'y  wuz  sat- 


i26  Meh  Lady 

isfied,  layin'  dyah  wid  he  gray  eyes  follerin'  her  study 
ev'ywhar  she  tu'n,  jes'  like  some  dem  pictures  hang- 
in'  up  in  de  parlor. 

"  I  'members  de  fust  day  he  walked.  He  done 
notify  her,  and  she  try  to  'swade  him,  but  he  monsus 
sot  in  he  mind  when  he  done  meek  't  up,  and  she  got  to 
gi'  in,  like  women-folks  after  dee  done  'spressify 
some  ;  and  he  git  up  and  walk  down  de  steps,  an' 
'cross  de  yard  to  a  rose-bush  nigh  de  gate  wid  red 
roses  on  it,  she  walkin'  by  he  side  lookin'  sort  o* 
anxious.  When  he  git  dyah,  dee  talk  a  little  while ; 
den  he  breck  one  an  gi'  't  to  her,  and  dee  come  back. 
Well,  he  hadn'  git  back  to  he  cheer  befo'  heah  come 
two  or  th'ee  gent'mens  ridin'  th'oo  de  place,  one  on 
'em  a  gener'l,  and  turrs,  dem  whar  ride  wid  'em,  our 
mens,  and  dee  stop  at  de  gate  to  'quire  de  way  to  de 
hewn-tree  ford  down  on  de  river,  and  Meh  Lady  she 
went  down  to  de  gate  to  ax  'em  to  'light,  and  to  tell 
'em  de  way  down  by  de  pond  ;  and  when  she  standin' 
dyah  shadin'  de  sun  from  her  eyes  wid  a  fan,  and  de 
rose  in  her  hand  ('cause  she  ain'  got  on  no  hat),  de 
gener'l  say : 

"  *  You  have  a  wounded  soldier  dyah  ? ' 
"  An'  she  say,  '  Yes,  he's  a  wounded  Federal  officer 
on  parole,'  and  he  say,  teckin'  off  he  hat : 


Meh  Lady  127 

"  '  Dee  ain'  many  soldiers  dat  wouldn'  envy  him 
he  prison.'  And  den  she  bows  to  him  sort  o'  'fusin' 
like,  and  her  face  mos'  blushin'  as  de  rose  de  Cap'n 
done  gi'  her  what  she  holdin';  and  when  dee  done  rid 
'long,  an  ain'  stop,  she  ain'  gone  back  to  de  po'ch 
toreckly  ;  she  come  out,  and  gi'  me  a  whole  parecel  o' 
directions  'bout  spadin'  de  border  whar  I  standin' 
heahin'  't  all,  wid  de  rose  done  stickin'  in  her  bosom. 

"  You'd  think  de  way  Meh  Lady  read  to  him  dyah 
on  de  big  po'ch,  she  done  forgit  he  her  pris'ner  and 
Virginia'  enemy.  She  ain'  do*;  she  jes*  as  rapid  to 
teck  up  for  de  rebels  as  befo'  he  come ;  I  b'lieve  she 
rapider ;  she  call  herse'f  rebel,  but  she  ain'  le'  him 
name  it  so.  I  'member  one  mornin'  she  come  in  out 
de  fiel'  an'  jump  off  her  horse,  an'  set  down  by  him  in 
her  ridin'-frock,  and  she  call  herse'f  a  rebel,  an' 
pres'n'y  he  name  us  so  too,  an'  she  say  he  sha'n't  call 
'em  so,  an'  he  laugh  an'  call  'em  so  ag'in,  jes'  dyahsen, 
an'  she  git  up  an'  walk  right  straight  in  de  house 
wid  her  head  up  in  de  air.  He  tell  her  de  rebels 
wuz  'treatin',  but  she  ain'  dignify  to  notice  dat. 
He  teck  up  a  book  an'  'pose  hese'f,  but  he  ain'  read 
much ;  den  he  try  to  sleep,  but  de  flies  'pear  to  pes- 
ter him  might'ly ;  den  Hannah  come  out,  an'  he  ax 
her  is  she  see  Meh  Lady  in  dyah.  Hannah  say, 


128  Meh  Lady 

'Nor,'  an'  den  he  ax  her  won'  she  please  go  an'  ax 
her  to  step  dyah  a  minute ;  an'  Hannah  ain'  spicion- 
ate  nuttin'  and  went,  an'  Meh  Lady  say,  c  No,  she 
won','  'cause  he  done  aggrivate  her;  an'  den  he  write 
her  a  little  note  an'  ax  Hannah  to  gi'  her  dat,  an'  she 
look  at  it  an'  send  't  back  to  him  widout  any  answer. 
Den  he  git  mad:  he  twis'  roun'  in  he  cheer  might'ly ; 
but  'tain'  do  him  no  good :  she  ain'  come  back  all 
day,  not  tell  he  had  to  teck  he  pencil  an'  write  her  a 
sho'  'nough  letter  :  den  pres'n'y  she  come  out  on  de 
po'ch  right  slow,  dressed  all  in  white,  and  tell  him 
sort  o'  forgivin'  dat  he  ought  to  be  'shamed  o'  hisse'f, 
an'  he  sort  o'  laugh',  an'  look  like  he  ain'  'shamed  o' 
nuttin'. 

"  Dee  sut'n'y  wuz  gittin'  good-neighborly  'long 
den.  And  he  watch  over  her  jes'  like  she  got  her  pay- 
role  'stid  o'  him.  One  day  a  party  o'  Yankees,  jes' 
prowlin'  roun'  after  devilment,  come  gallopin'  in  th'oo 
de  place,  an'  down  to  de  stable,  and  had  meh  kerridge- 
horses  out  befo'  I  know  dee  dyah.  I  run  in  de  house 
and  tell  Meh  Lady.  De  Cap'n  he  wuz  in  he  room 
and  he  heah  me,  and  he  come  out  wid  he  cap  on, 
bucklin'  on  Marse  Phil'  s'o'de  whar  he  done  teck 
down  off  de  wall,  and  he  order  me  to  come  'long, 
and  tell  Meh  Lady  not  to  come  out ;  and  down  de 


Meh  Lady  129 

steps  he  stride  and  'cross  de  yard  out  th'oo  de  gate 
in  de  road  to  whar  de  mens  wuz  wid  meh  horses  at 
de  fence,  wid  he  face  right  set.  He  ax  'em  one  or 
two  questions  'bout  whar  dee  from  dat  mornin';  den 
he  tell  'em  who  he  is  and  dat  dee  cyarn*  trouble  nuffin' 
heah.  De  man  wid  meh  horses  see  de  Cap'  n  mighty 
pale  an'  weak-lookin',  and  he  jes'  laugh,  an'  gether  up 
de  halters  gittin'  ready  to  go,  an'  call  to  de  urrs  to 
come  'long.  Well,  suh,  de  Cap'n*  eye  flash  ;  he  ain' 
say  a  wud ;  he  jes  rip  out  Marse  Phil'  s'o'de  an'  clap 
it  up  'ginst  dat  man'  side,  an'  cuss  him  once !  You 
ought  to  'a'  seen  him  le'  dem  halters  go !  '  Now/ 
says  de  Cap'n,  '  you  men  go  on  whar  you  gwine ; 
dyah  de  road ;  I  know  you,  an'  ef  I  heah  of  you 
stealin'  anything  I'll  have  you  ev'y  one  hung  as  soon 
as  I  get  back.  Now  go.'  An'  I  tell  you,  mon  !  dee 
gone  quick  enough. 

"  Oh !  I  tell  you  he  sut'n'y  had  de  favor  o'  our  folks; 
he  ain'  waste  no  wuds  when  he  ready;  he  quick  to 
r'ar,  an'  rank  when  he  git  up,  jes'  like  all  we  fam'bly  ; 
Norf  or  Souf,  dee  ain'  gwine  stand  no  projeckin'; 
dee's  Jack  Robinson. 

"  So  'twuz,  Meh  Lady  sort  o'  got  used  to  'pendin' 
on  him,  an'  'dout  axin  her  he  sort  o'  sensed  when  to 
Vise  her. 


130  Meh  Lady 

"  Sometimes  dee'd  git  in  de  boat  on  de  pond,  an* 
she'd  row  him  while  he'd  steer,  'cause  he  shoulder  ain' 
le'  him  row.  I  see  'em  of  a  evelin'  jes'  sort  o'  floatin' 
down  deah  onder  de  trees,  nigh  de  bank,  or  'mong 
dem  cow-collards,  pullin'  dem  water-flowers, — she  ain' 
got  on  no  hat,  or  maybe  jes'  a  soldier  cap  on  her 
head, — an'  heah  'em  talkin'  'cross  de  water  so  sleepy, 
an'  sometimes  he'd  meek  her  laugh  jes'  as  clear  as  a 
bud.  Dee  war'n  no  pay-role  den  ! 

"All  dis  time,  do',  she  jes'  as  good  a  rebel  as  befo' 
he  come.  De  wagons  would  come  an'  haul  corn,  an' 
she'd  'tend  to  cookin'  for  de  soldiers  all  night  long, 
jes'  same,  on'y  she  ain'  talk  to  him  'bout  it,  an'  he 
sort  o'  shet  he  eye  and  read  he  book  like  he  ain'  see 
it.  She  ain'  le'  Cap'n  Wilton  nor  Cap'n  nuttin'  else 
meek  no  diffunce  'bout  dat;  she  jes'  partic'lar  to  him 
'cause  he  her  cousin,  dat's  all,  an'  got  he  pay-role ; 
we  all  white  folks  al'ays  set  heap  o'  sto'  by  one  nurr, 
dat's  all  she  got  in  her  mind. 

"  I  'mos'  begin  to  spicionate  some'n'  myse'f,  but 
Hannah  she  say  I  ain'  nuttin'  but  a  ole  nigger-fool,  I 
ain'  know  nuttin'  'bout  white  folks'  ways ;  an'  sho' 
'nough,  she  done  prove  herse'f. 

"Hit  come  'long  todes  de  larst  o'  Fall,  'bout 
seedin'-wheat  time;  de  weather  been  mighty  warm, 


Meh  Lady  131 

mos'  like  summer,  an'  ev'ything  sort  o'  smoky-hazy, 
like  folks  bunnin'  bresh ;  an'  one  day  d'  come  fum 
de  post-office  a  letter  for  de  Cap'n,  an'  he  face  look 
sort  o'  comical  when  he  open  it,  an'  he  put  it  in  he 
pocket ;  an'  pres'n'y  he  say  he  got  to  go  home,  he  got 
he  exchangement.  Meh  Lady  ain'  say  nuttin';  but 
after  while  she  ax,  kind  o'  perlite,  is  he  well  enough 
yet  to  go.  He  ain'  meek  no  answer,  an'  she  ain'  say 
no  mo',  den  bofe  stop  talkin'  right  good. 

"  Well,  dat  evenin'  dee  come  out,  and  set  on  de 
po'ch  awhile,  she  wid  her  hyah  done  smoove ;  den  he 
say  some'n  to  her,  an'  dee  git  up  an'  went  to  walk ; 
an'  fust  he  walk  to  dat  red  rose-bush  an'  pull  two  or 
th'ee  roses,  den  dee  went  saunterin'  right  'long  down 
dis  way,  he  wid  de  roses  in  he  han',  lookin'  mighty 
handsome.  Pres'n'y  I  hed  to  come  down  in  de  fiel', 
an'  when  I  was  gwine  back  to  de  house  to  feed,  I 
strike  for  dis  parf,  an'  I  wuz  walkin'  'long  right  slow 
('cause  I  had  a  misery  in  dis  hip  heah),  an'  as  I  come 
th'oo  de  bushes  I  heah  somebody  talkin',  an'  dyah 
dee  wuz  right  at  de  gap,  an'  he  wuz  holdin'  her  hand, 
talkin'  right  study,  lookin'  down  at  her,  an'  she  look- 
in'  'way  fum  him,  ain'  sayin'  nuttin',  jes'  lookin' 
so  miser'ble  wid  de  roses  done  shatter  all  over  her 
lap  an'  down  on  de  groun'.  I  ain'  know  which  way 


132  Meh  Lady 

to  tu'n,  so  I  stan'  still,  an'  I  heah  him  say  he  want 
her  to  wait  an'  le'  him  come  back  ag'in,  an'  he  call  her 
by  her  name,  an'  say,  f  Won't  you  !  '  an'  she  wait  a  lit- 
tle while  an'  den  pull  her  hand  away  right  slow ;  den 
she  say,  sort  o'  whisperin',  she  cyarn'.  He  say  some'n 
den  so  hoarse  I  am'  meck't  out,  an'  she  say,  still 
lookin'  'way  fum  him  on  de  groun',  dat  she  '  cyarn' 
marry  a  Union  soldier.'  Den  he  le'  go  her  hand  an' 
rar  hese'f  up  sort  o'  straight,  an'  say  some'n'  I  ain' 
meek  out  'sep'  dat  'twould  'a'  been  kinder  ef  she  had 
let  him  die  when  he  wuz  wounded,  'stid  o'  woundin' 
him  all  he  life.  When  he  say  dat,  she  sort  o'  squinch 
'way  from  him  like  he  mos'  done  hit  her,  an'  say  wid 
her  back  todes  him  dat  he  ought  not  to  talk  dat  way, 
dat  she  know  she  been  mighty  wicked,  but  she  ain' 
know  'bout  it,  an'  maybe — .  I  ain'  know  what  she 
say,  'cause  she  start  to  cryin'  right  easy,  an'  he  teck 
her  han'  ag'in  an'  kiss  it,  an'  I  slip  roun'  an'  come 
home,  an'  lef 'em  dyah  at  de  gap,  she  cryin'  an'  he 
kissin'  her  han'  to  comfort  her. 

"  I  drive  him  over  to  de  depot  dat  night,  an'  he 
gi'  me  a  five  dollars  in  gold,  an'  say  I  must  teck  keer 
o'  de  ladies,  I'se  dee  main  'pendence ;  an'  I  tell  him, 
'Yes,  I  know  I  is,'  an'  he  sut'ny  wuz  sorry  to  tell 
me  good-by. 


*M;/'  he  ivuz  holdirf  her  hand,  talkirf  right  study" 


Meh  Lady  133 

"An*  Hannah  say  she  done  tell  me  all  'long  de 
chile  ain'  gwine  mortify  herself  'bout  no  Yankee  sol- 
dier, don'  keer  how  pretty  an'  tall  he  is,  an'  how 
straight  he  hole  he  head,  an'  dat  she  jes'  sorry  he 
gone  'cause  he  her  cousin.  I  ain'  know  so  much 
'bout  dat  do.  Dat  what  Hannah  al'ays  say — she 
tell  me. 

"  Well,  suh,  ef  'twarn'  lonesome  after  dat !  Hit 
'pear  like  whip'o'will  sing  all  over  de  place ;  ev'y- 
whar  I  tu'n  I  ain'  see  him.  I  didn'  know  till  he  gone 
how  sot  we  all  dun  git  on  him  ;  'cause  I  ain'  de  on'y 
one  done  miss  him  ;  Hannah  she  worryin'  'bout  him, 
Mistis  she  miss  him,  an'  Meh  Lady  she  gwine  right 
study  wid  her  mouf  shet  close,  but  she  cyarn'  shet  her 
eye  on  me:  she  miss  him,  an'  she  signify  it  too. 
She  tell  Mistis  'bout  he  done  ax  her  to  marry  him 
some  day  an'  to  le'  him  come  back,  an'  Mistis  ax  what 
she  say,  an'  she  tell  her,  an'  Mistis  git  up  out  her 
cheer  an'  went  over  to  her,  an'  kiss  her  right  sorf ; 
and  Hannah  say  (she  wuz  in  de  chamber,  an'  she  heah 
'em),  she  say  she  broke  out  cryin',  an'  say  she  know 
she  ought  to  hate  him,  but  she  don't,  an'  she  cyarn', 
she  jes'  hate  an'  'spise  herself;  an'  Mistis  she  try  to 
comfort  her ;  an'  she  teck  up  de  plantation  ag'in,  but 
she  ain'  never  look  jes'  like  she  look  befo'  he  come 


134  Meh  Lady 

dyah  an'  walk  in  de  hall,  so  straight,  puttin'  up  he 
s'o'de,  an'  when  she  ain'  claim  no  kin  wid  him  back 
out  de  do'  so  gran'  an'  say  he  cyarn'  intrude  on  her, 
an'  den  ride  thirty  mile'  to  git  dat  paper  an'  come  an' 
set  on  he  horse  at  de  gate  so  study  and  our  mens 
gallopin'  up  in  de  yard  to  get  him.  She  wuck  mighty 
study,  and  ride  Dixie  over  de  plantation  mighty  reg'- 
lar,  'cause  de  war  done  git  us  so  low,  wid  all  dem 
niggers  to  feed,  she  hed  to  tu'n  roun'  right  swift  to  git 
'em  victuals  an'  clo'es  ;  but  she  ain'  look  jes'  like  she 
look  befo'  dat,  an'  she  sut'n'y  do  nuss  dat  rose-bush 
nigh  de  gate  induschus. 

"  But  dem  wuz  de  een  o'  de  good  times. 

"  Hit  'peared  like  dat  winter  all  de  good  luck  done 
gone  'way  fum  de  place ;  de  weather  wuz  so  severe, 
an'  we  done  gi'  de  ahmy  ev'y thing,  de  feed  done  gi* 
out,  an'  'twuz  rank,  I  tell  you  !  Mistis  an'  Meh 
Lady  sent  to  Richmon'  an'  sell  dee  bonds,  an'  some 
dee  buy  things  wid  to  eat,  an'  de  rest  dee  gin  de 
Gov'ment,  an'  teck  Confed'ate  money  for  'em.  She 
say  she  ain'  think  hit  right  to  widhold  nuttin',  an'  she 
teck  Marster'  bonds  an'  sell  'em  fur  Confed'ate  Gun- 
boat stock  or  some'n'.  I  use'  to  heah  'em  talkin' 
'bout  it 

"  Den    de    Yankees   come  an'   got    my    kerridge- 


Meh  Lady  135 

horses  !  Oh  !  ef  dat  didn'  hu't  me  !  I  am'  git  over  it 
yit.  When  we  heah  dee  comin'  Meh  Lady  tell  me 
to  hide  de  horses ;  hit  jes'  as  well,  she  reckon.  De 
fust  time  dee  come,  dee  wuz  all  down  in  de  river 
pahsture,  an'  dee  ain'  see  'em,  but  now  dee  wuz  up  at 
de  house.  An'  so  many  been  stealed  I  used  to  sleep 
in  de  stalls  at  night  to  watch  'em  ;  so  I  teck  'em  all 
down  in  de  pines  on  de  river,  an'  I  down  dyah  jes'  as 
s'cure  as  a  coon  in  de  holler,  when  heah  dee  come 
tromplin'  and  gallinupin',  an'  teck  'em  ev'y  one,  an' 
'twuz  dat  weevly  black  nigger  Ananias  done  show  'em 
whar  de  horses  is,  an'  lead  em  dyah.  He  always  wuz 
a  mean  po'  white  folks  nigger  anyways,  an'  'twuz  a 
pity  Mistis  ain'  sell  him  long  ago.  Ef  I  couldn'  a 
teoh  him  all  to  pieces  dat  day !  I  b'lieve  Meh  Lady 
mo'  'sturb  'bout  'Nias  showin'  de  Yankees  whar  de 
horses  is  den  she  is  'bout  dee  teckin'  'em.  'Nias  he 
ain'  nuverdyah  show  he  face  no  mo',  he  went  offwid 
'em,  an'  so  did  two  or  th'ee  mo'  o'  de  boys.  De 
folks  see  'em  when  dee  parse  th'oo  Quail  Quarter, 
an'  dee  'shamed  to  say  dee  gone  off,  so  dee  tell  'em 
de  Yankees  cyar'  'em  off,  but  'twarn'  nothin'  but  a 
lie ;  I  know  dee  ain'  cyar'  me  off;  dee  ax  me  ef  I 
don'  wan'  go,  but  I  tell  'em  c  Nor/ 

"  Things  wuz  mons'ous  scant  after  dat,  an'  me  an' 


136  Meh  Lady 

Meh  Lady  had  hard  wuck  to  meek  buckle  and  tongue 
meet,  I  tell  you.  We  had  to  scuffle  might' ly  dat 
winter. 

"  Well,  one  night  a  curisome  thing  happen.  We 
had  done  got  mighty  lean,  what  wid  our  mens  an' 
Yankees  an'  all ;  an'  de  craps  ain'  come  in,  an'  de 
team  done  gone,  an'  de  fences  done  bu'nt  up,  an' 
things  gettin'  mighty  down,  I  tell  you.  And  dat 
night  I  wuz  settin'  out  in  de  yard,  jes'  done  finish 
smokin',  and  studyin'  'bout  gwine  to  bed.  De  sky 
wuz  sort  o'  thick,  an'  meh  mine  wuz  runnin'  on  my 
horses,  an'  pres'n'y,  suh,  I  heah  one  on  'em  gallopin' 
tobucket,  tobucket,  tobucket,  right  swif  'long  de 
parf  'cross  de  fiel',  an'  I  thought  to  myself,  I  know 
Romilus'  gallop ;  I  set  right  still,  an'  he  come  'cross 
de  branch  and  stop  to  drink  jes'  a  moufful,  an'  den  he 
come  up  de  hill,  tobucket,  tobucket,  tobucket.  I  say, 
1  Dat  horse  got  heap  o'  sense ;  he  know  he  hot,  an' 
he  ain'  gwine  to  hu't  hese'f  drinkin',  don'  keer  how 
thusty  he  is.  He  gwine  up  to  de  stable  now,'  I  say, 
'an'  I  got  to  go  up  dyah  an'  le'  him  in ;'  but  'stid  o' 
dat,  he  tu'n  'roun'  by  de  laundry,  an'  come  close  roun' 
de  house  to  whar  I  settin',  an'  stop,  an'  I  wuz  jes' 
sayin',  *  Well,  ef  dat  don'  beat  any  horse  ever  wuz  in 
de  wull ;  how  he  know  I  heah  ? '  when  somebody 


Meh  Lady  137 

say,  '  Good-eveninV  Um-h  !  I  sut'n'y  wuz  disap- 
p'inted  ;  dyah  wuz  a  man  settin'  dyah  in  de  dark  on  a 
gre't  black  horse,  an'  say  he  wan'  me  to  show  him  de 
way  th'oo  de  place.  He  ax  me  ef  I  warn'  sleep,  an'  I 
tell  him,  'Nor,  I  jes'  studyin';'  den  he  ax  me  a  whole 
parecel  o'  questions  'bout  Mistis  and  Marse  Phil  an' 
all,  an'  say  he  kin  to  'em  an'  he  used  to  know  Mistis 
a  long  time  ago.  Den  I  ax  him  to  'light,  an'  tell  him 
we'd  all  be  mighty  glad  to  see  him ;  but  he  say  he 
'bleeged  to  git  right  on ;  an'  he  keep  on  axin'  how 
dee  wuz  an'  how  dee  been,  an'  ef  dee  sick  an'  all,  an'  so 
'quisitive ;  pres'n'y  I  ain  tell  him  no  mo'  'sep'  dat  dee 
all  well  'skusin'  Mistis  ;  an'  den  he  ax  me  to  show 
him  de  way  th'oo,  an'  when  I  start,  he  ax  me  cyarn  he 
go  th'oo  de  yard,  dat  de  'rection  he  warn'  go,  an'  I 
tell  him  '  Yes,'  an'  le'  him  th'oo  de  back  gate,  an'  he 
ride  'cross  de  yard  on  de  grahss.  As  he  ride  by  de 
rose-bush  nigh  de  gate,  he  lean  over,  an'  I  thought  he 
breck  a  switch  off,  an'  I  tell  him  not  to  breck  dat ; 
dat  Meh  Lady'  rose-bush,  whar  she  set  mo'  sto'  by 
den  all  de  res';  an'  he  say,  f  'Tis  a  rose-bush,  sho' 
'nough,'  an'  he  come  'long  to  de  gate,  holdin'  a  rose 
in  he  hand.  Dyah  he  ax  me  which  is  Mistis'  room, 
and  I  tell  him,  *  De  one  by  de  po'ch,'  an'  he  say  he 
s'pose  dee  don'  use  upstyars  much  now  de  fam'bly  so 


138  Meh  Lady 

small ;  an'  I  tell  him,  '  Nor,'  dat  Meh  Lady'  room 
right  next  to  Mistis'  dis  side,  an'  he  stop  an'  look  at 
de  winder  good ;  den  he  come  'long  to  de  gate,  an' 
when  I  ax  him  which  way  he  gwine,  he  say,  *  By  de 
hewn-tree  ford.'  An'  blessed  Gord  !  ef  de  wud  ain' 
bring  up  things  I  done  mos'  forgit — dat  gener'l  ridin' 
up  to  de  gate,  an'  Meh  Lady  standin'  dyah,  shadin' 
her  eyes,  wid  de  rose  de  Cap'n  done  gi'  her  off  dat 
same  bush,  an*  de  gener'l  say  he  envy  him  he  prison. 
I  see  him  jes'  plain  as  ef  he  standin'  dyah  befo'  me, 
an'  heah  him  axin'  de  way  to  de  hewn-tree  ford;  but 
jes'  den  I  heah  some' n  jingle,  an'  he  jes'  lean  over  an' 
poke  some'n  heavy  in  my  hand,  an'  befo'  I  ken  say  a 
wud  he  gone  gallopin'  in  de  dark.  And  when  I  git 
back  to  de  light,  I  find  six  gre't  big  yaller  gold  pieces 
in  meh  hand,  look  like  gre't  pats  o'  butter,  an'  ef  't 
hadn'  been  for  dat  I'd  'mos'  'a'  believe'  'twuz  a  dream; 
but  dyah  de  money  an'  dyah  de  horse-track,  an'  de 
limb  done  pull  off  Meh  Lady'  rose-bush. 

"  I  hide  de  money  in  a  ole  sock  onder  de  j'ice,  and 
I  p'int  to  tell  Meh  Lady  'bout  it ;  but  Hannah, 
she  say  I  ain'  know  who  'tis — (and  so  I  ain'  den); 
and  I  jes'  gwine  'sturb  Mistis  wid  folks  ridin'  'bout 
th'oo  de  yard  at  night,  and  so  I  ain'  say  nuttin';  but 
when  I  heah  Meh  Lady  grievin'  'bout  somebody  done 


Meh  Lady  139 

breck  her  rose-bush  an'  steal  one  of  her  roses,  I 
mighty  nigh  tell  her,  an'  I  would,  on'y  I  don't  orn' 
aggrivate  Hannah.  You  know  'twon't  do  to  aggrivate 
women-folks. 

"  Well,  'twarn'  no  gre't  while  after  dat  de  war 
broke ;  'twuz  de  nex'  spring  'bout  plantin'-corn  time, 
on'y  we  ain'  plant  much  'cause  de  team  so  weak; 
stealin'  an'  Yankee  teckin'  together  done  clean  us  up, 
an'  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  had  to  gi'  a  deed  o'  struss 
on  de  Ian'  to  buy  a  new  team  dat  spring,  befo'  we 
could  breck  up  de  corn -land,  an'  we  hadn'  git  mo'  'n 
half  done  fo'  Richmon'  fall  an'  de  folks  wuz  all  free ; 
den  de  army  parse  th'oo  an'  some  on  'em  come  by 
home,  an'  teck  ev'y  blessed  Gord's  horse  an'  mule  on 
de  place,  'sep'  one  ole  mule — George,  whar  wuz  ole 
an'  bline,  an'  dee  won'  have  him.  Dem  wuz  tumble 
times,  an'  ef  Meh  Lady  an'  Mistis  didn'  cry  !  not 
'cause  dee  teck  de  horses  an'  mules — we  done  get  use' 
to  dat,  an'  dat  jes'  meek  'em  mad  and  high-sperited — 
but  'cause  Richmon'  done  fall  an'  Gener'l  Lee  sur- 
rendered. Ef  dee  didn'  cry!  When  Richmon'  fall 
dee  wuz  'stonished,  but  dee  say  dat  ain'  meek  no  dif- 
funce,  Gener'l  Lee  gwine  whip  'em  yit ;  but  when 
dee  heah  Gener'l  Lee  done  surrender  dee  gin  up ; 
fust  dee  wouldn'  b'lieve  it,  but  dee  sut'n'y  wuz 


140  Meh  Lady 

strusted.  Dee  grieve  'bout  dat  'mos'  much  as  when 
Marse  Phil  die.  Mistis  she  ain'  nuver  rekiver.  She 
wuz  al'ays  sickly  and  in  bed  after  dat,  and  Meh  Lady 
and  Hannah  dee  use'  to  nuss  her. 

"  After  de  fust  year  or  so  mos'  o'  de  folks  went 
away.  Meh  Lady  she  tell  'em  dee  better  go,  dat  dee'l 
fine  dem  kin  do  mo*  for  'em  'en  she  kin  now  ;  heap  on 
'em  say  dee  ain'  gwine  way,  but  after  we  so  po'  dee 
went  'way,  dthough  Meh  Lady  sell  some  Mistis'  dia- 
monds to  buy  'em  some'n  to  eat  while  dee  dyah. 

"  Well,  'twan'  so  ve'y  long  after  dis,  or  maybe 
'twuz  befo',  'twuz  jes'  after  Richmon'  fall,  Mistis  get 
a  letter  fum  de  Cun'l — dat's  Cap'n  Wilton  ;  he  done 
Cun'l  den, — tellin'  her  he  want  her  to  le'  him  come 
down  an'  see  her  an'  Meh  Lady,  an'  he  been  love 
Meh  Lady  all  de  time  sence  he  wounded  heah  in  de 
war,  an'  al'ays  will  love  her,  an'  won'  she  le'  him  help 
her  any  way ;  dat  he  owe  Mistis  an'  Meh  Lady  he 
life.  Hannah  heah  'em  read  it.  De  letter  'sturb 
Mistis  might'ly,  an'  she  jes'  put  it  in  Meh  Lady'  han's 
an'  tu'n  'way  widout  a  wud. 

"  Meh  Lady,  Hannah  say,  set  right  still  a  minute 
an'  look  mighty  solemn  ;  den  she  look  at  Mistis  sort 
o'  sideways,  an'  den  she  say,  c  Tell  him,  No.'  An* 
Mistis  went  over  an'  kiss  her  right  sorf! 


Meh  Lady  14 l 

"An'  dat  evenin'  I  cyar  de  letter  whar  Mistis 
write  to  de  office. 

"  Well,  'twarn'  so  much  time  after  dat  dee  begin 
to  sue  Mistis  on  Marster's  debts.  We  heah  dee  suin' 
her  in  de  co't,  an'  Mistis  she  teck  to  her  bed  reg'lar 
wid  so  much  trouble,  an'  say  she  hope  she  won'  nuver 
live  to  see  de  place  sold,  an'  Meh  Lady  she  got  to 
byah  ev'ything.  She  used  to  sing  to  Mistis  an'  read 
to  her  an'  try  to  hearten  her  up,  meckin'  out  dat 
'tain'  meek  no  diffunce.  Hit  did  do',  an'  she  know 
it,  'cause  we  po'  now,  sho'  'nough ;  an'  dee  wuz  po'er 
'n  Hannah  an'  me,  'cause  de  Ian'  ain'  got  nobody  to 
wuck  it  an'  no  team  to  wuck  it  wid,  an'  we  ain'  know 
who  it  b'longst  to,  an'  hit  done  all  grow  up  in  bushes 
an'  blackberry  briers  ;  ev'y  year  hit  grow  up  mo'  an 
mo',  an'  we  gittin'  po'er  an'  po'er.  Mistis  she  boun' 
to  have  flour,  ain'  been  use  to  nuttin'  but  de  fines' 
bread,  jes'  as  white  as  you'  shu't,  an'  she  so  sickly 
now  she  got  to  have  heap  o'  things,  tell  Meh  Lady 
fyar  at  her  wits'  een  to  git  'em.  Dat's  all  I  ever  see 
her  cry  'bout,  when  she  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  buy  what 
Mistis  want.  She  use  to  cry  'bout  dat  dthough. 
But  Mistis  ain'  know  nottin'  'bout  dat :  she  think 
Meh  Lady  got  heap  mo'n  she  is,  bein'  shet  up  in  her 
room  now  all  de  time.  De  doctor  say  she  got  'sump- 


142  Meh  Lady 

tion,  an'  Meh  Lady  doin'  all  she  kin  to  keep  't  fum 
her  how  po'  we  is,  smilin'  an'  singin'  fur  her.  She 
jes'  whah  herse'f  out  wid  it,  nussin'  her,  wuckin'  fur 
her,  singin'  to  her.  Hit  used  to  hu't  me  sometimes 
to  heah  de  chile  singin'  of  a  evenin'  things  she  use  to 
sing  in  ole  times,  like  she  got  ev'ything  on  uth  same 
as  befo'  de  war,  an'  I  know  she  jes'  singin'  to  ease 
Mistis'  mine,  an'  maybe  she  hongry  right  now. 

"  'Twuz  den  I  went  an'  git  de  rest  o'  de  money  de 
Cap'n  gi'  me  dat  night  fum  onder  de  j'ice  (I  had  done 
spend  right  smart  chance  on  it  gittin'  things,  meckin' 
b'lieve  I  meek  it  on  de  farm),  an'  I  put  it  in-meh  ole 
hat  an'  cyar  it  to  Meh  Lady,  'cause  it  sort  o'  hern 
anyways,  an'  her  face  sort  o'  light  up  when  she  see  de 
gold  shinin',  'cause  she  sut'n'y  had  use  for  it,  an'  she 
ax  me  whar  I  git  so  much  money,  an'  I  tell  her  some- 
body gi'  't  to  me,  an'  she  say  what  I  gwine  do  wid  it. 
An'  I  tell  her  it  hern,  an'  she  say  how,  an'  I  tell  her 
I  owe  it  to  her  for  rent,  an'  she  bu'st  out  cryin'  so 
she  skeer  me.  She  say  she  owe  me  an'  her  mammy 
ev'ything  in  de  wull,  an'  she  know  we  jes'  stayin'  wid 
'em  'cause  dee  helpless,  an'  sich  things,  an'  she  cry  so 
I  upped  an'  tole  her  how  I  come  by  de  money,  an' 
she  stop  an'  listen  good.  Den  she  say  she  cyarn'  tech 
a  cent  o'  dat  money,  an'  she  oodn',  mon,  tell  I  tell  her 


Meh  Lady  143 

I  wan'  buy  de  mule  ;  an'  she  say  she  consider  him 
mine  now,  an'  ef  he  ain'  she  gi'  him  to  me,  an'  I  say, 
nor,  I  wan'  buy  him.  Den  she  say  how  much  he 
wuth,  an'  I  say,  he  wuth  a  hunderd  dollars,  but  I  ain' 
got  dat  much  right  now,  I  kin  owe  her  de  res' ;  an' 
she  breck  out  laughin',  like  when  she  wuz  a  little  girl 
an'  would  begin  to  laugh  ef  you  please  her,  wid  de 
tears  on  her  face  an'  dress,  sort  o'  April-like.  Hit 
gratify  me  so,  I  keep  on  at  it,  but  she  say  she'll  teck 
twenty  dollars  for  de  mule  an'  no  mo',  an'  I  say  I 
ain'  gwine  disqualify  dat  mule  wid  no  sich  price  ;  den 
pres'n'y  we  'gree  on  forty  dollars,  an'  I  pay  it  to  her, 
an'  she  sont  me  up  to  Richmon'  next  day  to  git 
things  for  Mistis,  an'  she  al'ays  meek  it  a  p'int  after 
dat  to  feed  George  a  little  some'n'  ev'y  day. 

"  Den  she  teck  de  school ;  did  you  know  'bout 
dat  ?  Dat  de  school-house  right  down  de  road  a  lit- 
tle piece.  I  reckon  you  see  it  as  you  come  'long.  I 
ain'  b'lieve  it  when  I  heah  'em  say  Meh  Lady  gwine 
teach  it.  I  say,  f  She  teach  niggers  !  dat  she  ain' !  not 
my  young  mistis.'  But  she  laugh  at  me  an'  Hannah, 
an'  say  she  been  teachin'  de  colored  chil'n  all  her  life, 
ain'  she  ?  an'  she  wan'  Hannah  an'  me  to  ease  Mistis' 
min'  'bout  it  ef  she  say  anything.  I  sut'n'y  was 
'posed  to  it,  do';  an'  de  colored  chil'n  she  been  teach- 


144  Meh  Lady 

in'  wuz  diffunt — dee  b'longst  to  her.  But  she  al'ays 
so  sot  on,doin'  what  she  gwine  do,  she  meek  you 
b'lieve  she  right  don'  keer  what  'tis ;  an'  I  tell  her 
pres'n'y,  all  right,  but  ef  dem  niggers  impident  to 
her,  jes'  le'  me  know  an'  I'll  come  down  dyah  an' 
wyah  'em  out.  So  she  went  reg'lar,  walk  right  'long 
dis  ve'y  parf  wid  her  books  an'  her  little  basket.  An' 
sometimes  I'd  bring  de  mule  for  her  to  ride  home  ef 
she  been  up  de  night  befo'  wid  Mistis ;  but  she  wouldn' 
ride  much,  'cause  she  think  George  got  to  wuck. 

"Tell  'long  in  de  spring  Meh  Lady  she  done  breck 
down,  what  wid  teachin'  school,  an'  settin'  up,  an' 
bein'  so  po',  stintin'  for  Mistis,  an'  her  face  gittin' 
real  white  'stid  o'  pink  like  peach-blossom,  as  it  used 
to  be,  on'y  her  eyes  dee  bigger  an'  prettier'n  ever, 
'sep'  dee  look  tired  when  she  come  out  o'  Mistis' 
chamber  an'  lean  'g'inst  de  do',  lookin'  out  down  de 
lonesome  road ;  an'  de  doctor  whar  come  from  Rich- 
mon'  to  see  Mistis,  'cause  de  ain'  no  doctor  in  de 
neighborhood  sence  de  war,  tell  Hannah  when  he  went 
'way  de  larst  time  'tain'  no  hope  for  Mistis,  she  mos' 
gone,  an'  he  teck  her  aside,  an'  tell  her  she  better  look 
mighty  good  after  Meh  Lady  too ;  he  say  she  mos' 
sick  as  Mistis,  an'  fust  thing  she  know  she'll  be  gone 
too.  Dat  'sturb  Hannah  might'ly. 


"  An"1  sometimes  Pd  bring  de  mule  for  her  to  ride  home 
ef  she  been  up  de  night  beftf  wid  Mist  is" 


Meh  Lady  H5 

"  Well,  so  'twuz  tell  in  de  spring.  I  had  done 
plant  meh  corn,  an'  it  hed  done  come  up  right  good; 
'bout  mos'  eight  acres,  right  below  the  barn  whar  de 
Ian'  strong  (I  couldn'  put  in  no  mo'  'cause  de  mule 
he  wuz  mighty  ole)  ;  an'  come  a  man  down  heah  one 
mornin',  ridin'  a  sway-back  sorrel  horse,  an'  say  dee 
gwine  sell  de  place  in  'bout  a  mont'.  Meh  Lady  hed 
gone  to  school,  an'  I  am'  le'  him  see  Mistis,  nor  tell 
him  whar  Meh  Lady  is  nuther ;  I  jes'  teck  de  message 
an'  call  Hannah  so  as  she  kin  git  it  straight ;  an' 
when  Meh  Lady  come  home  dat  evenin'  I  tell  her. 
She  sut'n'y  did  tu'n  white,  an'  dat  night  she  ain'  sleep 
a  wink.  After  she  put  her  ma  to  sleep,  she  come  out 
to  her  mammy'  house,  an'  fling  herself  on  Hannah' 
bed  an'  cry  an'  cry.  'Twuz  jes'  as  ef  her  heart  gwine 
breck ;  she  say  'twould  kill  her  ma,  an'  hit  did. 

"  Mistis  she  boun'  to  heah  'bout  it,  'cause  Meh 
Lady  'bleeged  to  breck  it  to  her  now ;  and  at  fust  it 
'peared  like  she  got  better  on  it,  she  teck  mo'  notice- 
ment  o'  ev'ything,  an'  her  eyes  look  bright  and  shiny. 
She  ain'  know  not  yit  'bout  how  hard  Meh  Lady 
been  had  to  scuffle ;  she  say  she  keep  on  after  her  to 
git  herse'f  some  new  clo'es,  a  dress  an'  things,  an'  she 
oont ;  an'  Meh  Lady  would  jes'  smile,  tired  like,  an' 
say  she  teachin'  now,  and  don'  want  no  mo'  'n  she 


146  Meh  Lady 

got,   an'   her   smile    meek    me  mos'   sorry    like    she 
cryin'. 

"  So  hit  went  on  tell  jes  befo'  de  sale.  An'  one 
day  Meh  Lady  she  done  lef '  her  ma  settin'  in  her 
cheer  by  de  winder,  whar  she  done  fix  her  good  wid 
pillows,  an'  she  done  gone  to  school,  an'  Hannah 
come  out  whar  I  grazin'  de  mule  on  de  ditch-bank, 
an'  say  Mistis  wan'  see  me  toreckly.  I  gi'  Hannah 
de  lines,  an'  I  went  in  an'  knock  at  de  do',  an'  when 
Mistis  ain'  heah,  I  went  an'  knock  at  de  chamber  do' 
an'  she  tell  me  to  come  in ;  an'  I  ax  her  how  she  is, 
an'  she  say  she  ain'  got  long  to  stay  wid  us,  an'  she 
wan'  ax  me  some'n,  and  she  wan'  me  tell  her  de  truth, 
an'  she  say  I  al'ays  been  mighty  faithful  an'  kind  to 
her  an'  hern,  an'  she  hope  Gord  will  erward  me  an' 
Hannah  for  it,  an'  she  wan'  me  now  to  tell  her  de 
truth.  When  she  talk  dat  way,  hit  sut'n'y  hut  me, 
an'  I  tole  her  I  sut'n'y  would  tell  her  faithful.  Den 
she  went  on  an'  ax  me  how  we  wuz  gettin'  on,  an'  ef  we 
ain'  been  mighty  po',  an'  ef  Meh  Lady  ain'  done  stint 
herse'f  more'n  she  ever  know  ;  an'  I  tell  her  all  'bout  it, 
ev'ything  jes'  like  it  wuz — de  fatal  truth,  'cause  I 
done  promised  her  ;  an'  she  sut'n'y  was  grieved,  I  tell 
you,  an'  the  tears  roll  down  an'  drap  off  her  face  on 
de  pillow ;  an'  pres'n'y  she  say  she  hope  Gord  would 


Meh  Lady  147 

forgive  her,  an'  she  teck  out  her  breast  dem  little 
rocks  Marster  gi'  her  when  she  married,  whar  hed 
been  ole  Mistis',  an'  she  say  she  gin  up  all  the  urrs,  but 
dese  she  keep  to  gi'  Meh  Lady  when  she  married,  an' 
now  she  feared  'twuz  pride,  an'  Gord  done  punish  her, 
lettin'  her  chile  starve,  but  she  ain'  know  'bout  hit 
'zactly,  an'  ign'ance  he  forgive ;  an'  she  went  on  an' 
talk  'bout  Marster  an'  ole  times  when  she  fust  come 
home  a  bride,  an'  'bout  Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady, 
tell  she  leetle  mo'  breck  my  heart,  an'  de  tears  rain 
down  my  face  on  de  flo'.  She  sut'n'y  talk  beautiful. 
Den  she  gi'  me  de  diamonds,  an'  dee  shine  like  a 
handful  of  lightning-bugs !  an'  she  tell  me  to  teck 
'em  an'  teck  keer  on  'em,  an'  gi'  'em  to  Meh  Lady 
some  time  after  she  gone,  an'  not  le'  nobody  else  have 
'em ;  an'  would  n'  me  an'  Hannah  teck  good  keer  o' 
her,  an'  stay  wid  her,  and  not  le'  her  wuck  so  hard, 
an'  I  tell  her  we  sut'n'y  would  do  dat.  Den  her  voice 
mos'  gin  out  an'  she  'peared  mighty  tired,  but  hit 
look  like  she  got  some'n  still  on  her  min',  an'  pres'n'y 
she  say  I  mus'  come  close,  she  mighty  tired  ;  an'  I  sort 
o'  ben'  todes  her,  an'  she  say  she  wan'  me  after  she 
gone,  as  soon  as  I  kin,  to  get  the  wud  to  Meh  Lady's 
cousin  whar  wuz  heah  wounded  indurin'  o'  de  war 
dat  she  dead,  an'  dat  ef  he  kin  help  her  chile,  an'  be 


148  Meh  Lady 

her  pertector,  she  know  he'll  do  it ;  an'  I  ain'  to  le' 
Meh  Lady  know  nuttin'  'bout  it,  not  nuttin'  't  all, 
an'  to  tell  him  she  lef '  him  her  blessin'.  Den  she  git 
so  faint,  I  run  an'  call  Hannah,  an'  she  come  runnin' 
an'  gi'  her  some  sperrits,  an'  tell  me  to  teck  de  mule 
an'  go  after  Meh  Lady  toreckly,  an'  so  I  did.  When 
she  got  dyah,  do',  Mistis  done  mos'  speechless  ;  Han- 
nah hed  done  git  her  in  de  bed,  which  wan't  no  trouble, 
she  so  light.  She  know  Meh  Lady,  do',  an'  try 
to  speak  to  her  two  or  t '  ee  times,  but  dee  ain'  meek 
out  much  mo'  'n  Gord  would  bless  her  and  teck  keer 
on  her;  an'  she  die  right  easy  jes'  befo'  mornin'.  An' 
Meh  Lady  ax  me  to  pray,  an'  I  did.  She  sut'n'y  die 
peaceful,  an'  she  look  jes'  like  she  smilin'  after  she 
dead;  she  sut'n'y  wuz  ready  to  go. 

"  Well,  Hannah  and  Meh  Lady  lay  her  out  in  her 
bes'  frock,  an'  she  sho'ly  look  younger'n  I  ever  see 
her  look  sence  Richmon'  fell,  ef  she  ain'  look  young- 
er'n she  look  sence  befo'  de  war;  an'  de  neighbors, 
de  few  dat's  left,  an'  de  black  folks  roun'  come,  an' 
we  bury  her  de  evenin'  after  in  the  gyardin'  right  side 
Marse  Phil,  her  fust-born,  whar  we  know  she  wan'  be; 
an'  her  mammy  she  went  in  de  house  after  dat  to  stay 
at  night  in  the  room  wid  Meh  Lady,  an'  I  sleep  on 
the  front  po'ch  to  teck  keer  de  house.  'Cause  we 


Meh  Lady  H9 

sut'n'y  wuz  'sturbed  'bout  de  chile ;  she  ain'  sleep  an' 
she  ain'  eat  an'  she  ain'  cry  none,  an'  Hannah  say  dat 
ain'  reasonable,  which  'taint,  'cause  womens  dee  cry 
sort  o'  'natchel. 

"  But  so  'twuz ;  de  larst  time  she  cry  wuz  dat 
evenin'  she  come  in  Hannah's  house,  an'  fling  herse'f 
on  de  bed,  an'  cry  so  grievous  'cause  dee  gwine  sell 
de  place,  an'  'twould  kill  her  ma.  She  ain'  cry  no 
mo'! 

"  Well,  after  we  done  bury  Mistis,  as  I  wuz  sayin', 
we  sut'n'y  wuz  natchelly  tossified  'bout  Meh  Lady. 
Hit  look  like  what  de  doctor  say  wuz  sut'n'y  so,  an' 
she  gwine  right  after  her  ma. 

"  I  try  to  meek  her  ride  de  mule  to  school,  an'  tell 
her  I  ain'  got  no  use  for  him,  I  got  to  thin  de  corn ; 
but  she  oodn't ;  she  say  he  so  po'  she  don'  like  to  gi' 
him  no  mo'  wuck'n  necessary ;  an'  dat's  de  fact,  he 
wuz  mighty  po'  'bout  den,  'cause  de  feed  done  gi' 
out  an'  de  grass  ain'  come  good  yit,  an'  when  mule 
bline  an'  ole  he  mighty  hard  to  git  up ;  but  he  been 
a  good  mule  in  he  time,  an'  he  a  good  mule  yit. 

"  So  she'd  go  to  school  of  a  mornin',  an'  me  or 
Hannah  one'd  go  to  meet  her  of  a  evenin'  to  tote  her 
books,  'cause  she  hardly  able  to  tote  herse'f  den ;  an' 
she  do  right  well  at  school  (de  chil'un  all  love  her) ; 


150  Meh  Lady 

twuz  when  she  got  home  she  so  suffering  den  her 
mind  sort  o'  wrastlin  wid  itself,  an'  she  jes'  set  down 
an'  think  an'  study  an'  look  so  grieved.  Hit  sut'n'y 
did  hut  me  an'  Hannah  to  see  her  settin'  dyah  at  de 
winder  o'  Mistis'  chamber,  leanin'  her  head  on  her 
han'  an'  jes'  lookin'  out  all  de  evenin'  so  lonesome, 
and  she  look  beautiful  too.  Hannah  say  she  grievin' 
herself  to  death. 

"  Well,  dat  went  on  for  mo'  'n  six  weeks,  and  de 
chile  jes'  settin'  dyah  ev'y  night  all  by  herse'f  wid  de 
moonlight  shinin'  all  over  her,  meckin'  her  look  so 
pale.  Hannah  she  tell  me  one  night  I  got  to  do 
some'n,  an'  I  say,  *  What  'tis  ? '  An'  she  say  I  got 
to  git  de  wud  dat  Mistis  say  to  de  Cap'n,  dat  de  chile 
need  a  pertector,  an'  I  say,  *  How  ? '  And  she  say  I 
got  to  write  a  letter.  Den  I  say,  c  I  cyarn'  neither 
read  nor  write,  but  I  can  get  Meh  Lady  to  write  it ;  ' 
an'  she  say,  nor  I  cyarn',  'cause  ain'  Mistis  done 
spressify  partic'lar  Meh  Lady  ain'  to  know  nuttin' 
'bout  it  ?  Den  I  say,  '  I  kin  git  somebody  at  de  post- 
office  to  write  it,  an'  I  kin  pay  'em  in  eggs ;'  an'  she 
say  she  ain'  gwine  have  no  po'  white  folks  writin' 
an'  spearin'  'bout  Mistis'  business.  Den  I  say,  'How 
I  gwine  do  den  ? '  An'  she  study  a  little  while,  an' 
den  she  say  I  got  to  teck  de  mule  an'  go  fine  him.  I 


Meh  Lady  151 

say,  *  Hi !  Good  Gord  !  Hannah,  how  I  gwine  fine 
him  ?  De  Cap'n  live  'way  up  yander  in  New  York, 
or  somewhar  or  nuther,  an'  dat's  furrer'n  Lynchbu'g, 
an'  I'll  ride  de  mule  to  death  befo'  I  git  dyah ;  be- 
sides I  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  feed  him.' 

"  But  Hannah  got  argiment  to  all  dem  wuds  ;  she 
say  I  got  tongue  in  meh  head,  an'  I  kin  fine  de  way ; 
an'  as  to  ridin'  de  mule  to  death,  I  kin  git  down  an' 
le'  him  res',  or  I  kin  lead  him,  an'  I  kin  graze  him 
side  de  road  ef  folks  so  stingy  nobody  oon  le'  me 
graze  him  in  dee  pahsture.  Den  she  study  little 
while,  an'  den  say  she  got  it  now — I  must  go  to 
Richmon'  an'  sell  de  mule,  an'  teck  de  money  an'  git 
on  de  cyars  an'  fine  him.  Hannah,  I  know,  she  gwine 
wuck  it,  'cause  she  al'ays  a  powerful  han'  to  'ravel 
anything.  But  it  sut'n'y  did  hu't  me  to  part  wid  dat 
mule,  he  sich  a  ambitious  mule ;  an'  I  tell  Hannah  I 
ain'  done  sidin'  meh  corn ;  an'  she  say  dat  ain'  meek 
no  diff'unce ;  she  gwine  hoe  de  corn  after  I  gone,  an' 
de  chile  grievin'  so  she  feared  she'll  die,  an'  what  good 
sidin'  corn  gwine  do  den  ?  she  grievin'  mo'n  she 
'quainted  wid,  Hannah  say.  So  I  wuz  to  go  to  Rich- 
mon' nex'  mornin'  but  one,  befo'  light,  an'  Hannah 
she  wash  meh  shu't  nex'  day,  an'  cook  meh  rations 
while  Meh  Lady  at  school.  Well,  I  knock  off  wuck 


152  Meh  Lady 

right  early  nex'  evenin'  'bout  two  hours  be-sun,  'cause 
I  wan'  rest  de  mule,  an'  after  grazin'  him  for  a  while 
in  de  yard,  I  put  him  in  he  stall,  an'  gi'  him  a  half- 
peck  o'  meal,  'cause  dat  de  lahst  night  I  gwine  feed 
him ;  and  soon  as  I  went  in  wid  de  meal  he  swi'ch 
his  tail  an'  hump  hese'f  jes'  like  he  gwine  kick  me ; 
dat's  de  way  he  al'ays  do  when  he  got  anything  'g'inst 
you,  'cause  you  sich  a  fool  or  anything,  'cause  mule  got 
a  heap  o'  sense  when  you  know  'em.  Well,  I  think  he 
jes'  aggrivated  'cause  he  know  I  gwine  sell  him,  an'  I 
holler  at  him  right  swere  like  I  gwine  cut  him  in  two, 
to  fool  him  ef  I  kin,  an'  meek  him  b'lieve  'tain'  nuttin' 
de  matter. 

"  An'  jes'  den  I  heah  a  horse  steppin'  'long  right 
brisk,  an'  I  stop  an'  listen,  an'  de  horse  come  'long  de 
pahf  right  study  an'  up  todes  de  stable.  I  say,  cHi ! 
who  dat  ? '  an'  when  I  went  to  de  stall  do',  dyah  wuz 
a  gent'man  settin'  on  a  strange  horse  wid  two  white 
foots,  an'  a  beard  on  he  face,  an'  he  hat  pulled 
over  he  eyes  to  keep  de  sun  out'n  'em  ;  an'  when  he 
see  me,  he  ride  on  up  to  de  stable,  an'  ax  me  is  Meh 
Lady  at  de  house,  an'  how  she  is,  an'  a  whole  parecel 
o'  questions ;  an'  he  so  p'inted  in  he  quiration  I  ain' 
had  time  to  study  ef  I  ever  see  him  befo',  but  I  don* 
think  I  is.  He  a  mighty  straight,  fine-lookin'  gent'- 


Meh  Lady  153 

man  do',  wid  he  face  right  brown  like  he  been  wuckin', 
an'  I  ain'  able  to  fix  him  no  ways.  Den  he  tell  me 
he  heah  o'  Mistis'  death,  an'  he  jes'  come  'cross  de 
ocean,  an'  he  wan'  see  Meh  Lady  partic'lar ;  an'  I  tell 
him  she  at  school,  but  it  mos'  time  for  her  come 
back  ;  an'  he  ax  whichaways,  an'  I  show  him  de  pahf, 
an'  he  git  down  an'  ax  me  ef  I  cyarn  feed  he  horse, 
an'  I  tell  him,  '  In  co'se,'  do'  Gord  knows  I  ain'  got 
nuttin'  to  feed  him  wid  'sep'  grahss;  but  I  ain'  gwine 
le'  him  know  dat ;  so  I  ax  him  to  walk  to  de  house 
an'  teck  a  seat  on  de  po'ch  tell  Meh  Lady  come,  an'  I 
teck  de  horse  an'  cyar  him  in  de  stable  like  I  got  de 
corn-house  full  o'  corn.  An'  when  I  come  out  I 
look,  an'  dyah  he  wuz  gwine  stridin'  'way  cross  de 
fiel'  'long  de  pahf  whar  Meh  Lady  comin'. 

"  (  Well,'  I  say,  '  Hi !  now  he  gwine  to  meet  Meh 
Lady,  an'  I  ain'  know  he  name  nur  what  he  want,' 
an'  I  study  a  little  while  wherr  I  should  go  an'  fine 
Hannah  or  hurry  myse'f  an'  meet  Meh  Lady.  Not  dat 
I  b'lieve  he  gwine  speak  out  de  way  to  Meh  Lady, 
'cause  he  sut'n'y  wuz  quality,  I  see  dat ;  I  know  hit 
time  I  look  at  him  settin'  dyah  so  straight  on  he 
horse,  'mindin'  me  of  Marse  Phil,  an'  he  voice  hit 
sholy  wuz  easy  when  he  name  Meh  Lady'  name 
and  Mistis';  but  I  ain'  know  but  what  he  somebody 


154  Meh  Lady 

wan'  to  buy  de  place,  an'  I  know  Meh  Lady  am'  wan* 
talk  'bout  dat,  an'  am'  wan'  see  strangers  no  way  ;  so 
I  jes'  lip  out  'cross  de  fiel'  th'oo  a  nigher  way  to  hit 
de  pahf  at  dis  ve'y  place  whar  de  gap  wuz,  an'  whar  I 
thought  Meh  Lady  mighty  apt  to  res'  ef  she  tired  or 
grievin'. 

"  An'  I  hurry  'long  right  swift  to  git  heah  befo'  de 
white  gent'man  kin  git  heah,  an'  all  de  time  I  tu'nnin' 
in  meh  mine  whar  I  done  heah  anybody  got  voice 
sound  deep  an'  cler  like  dat,  an'  ax  questions  ef  Meh 
Lady  well,  dat  anxious,  an'  I  cyarn'  git  it.  An'  by 
dat  time  I  wuz  done  got  right  to  de  tu'n  in  de  pahf 
dyah,  mos  out  o'  breaf,  an'  jes'  as  I  tu'nned  round 
dat  clump  o'  bushes  I  see  Meh  Lady  settin'  right 
dyah  on  de  'bankment  whar  de  gap  use'  to  be,  wid 
her  books  by  her  side  on  de  groun',  her  hat  off  at  her 
feet,  an'  her  head  leanin'  for'ard  in  her  han's,  an'  her 
hyah  mos'  tumble  down,  an'  de  sun  jes'  techin'  it 
th'oo  de  bushes  ;  an'  hit  all  come  to  me  in  a  minute, 
jes'  as  cler  as  ef  she  jes'  settin'  on  de  gap  dyah  yistidy 
wid  de  rose-leaves  done  shatter  all  down  on  de  groun' 
by  her,  an'  Cap'n  Wilton  kissin'  her  han'  to  comfort 
her,  an*  axin'  her  oon'  she  le'  him  come  back  some 
time  to  love  her.  An'  I  say,  '  Dyah  !  'fo  Gord  !  ef  I 
ain'  know  him  soon  as  I  lay  meh  eyes  on  him !  De 


Meh  Lady  155 

pertector  done  come !  '  Den  I  know  huccome  dat 
mule  act  so  'sponsible. 

"  An'  jes'  den  he  come  walkin'  long  down  de  pahf, 
wid  he  hat  on  de  back  o'  he  head  an'  he  eyes  on  her 
right  farst,  an'  he  face  look  so  tender  hit  look  right 
sweet.  She  think  hit  me,  an'  she  ain'  move  nor  look 
up  tell  he  call  her  name  ;  den  she  look  up  right  swift, 
an'  give  a  sort  o'  cry,  an'  her  face  light  up  like  she 
tu'n't  to  de  sun,  an'  he  retch  out  bofe  he  han's  to 
her;  an'  I  slip  back  so  he  couldn'  see  me,  an'  come 
'long  home  right  quick  to  tell  Hannah. 

"  I  tell  her  I  know  him  soon  as  I  see  him,  but 
she  tell  me  dat's  a  lie,  'cause  ef  I  had  I'd  'a'  come  an' 
tell  her  'bout  hit,  an'  not  gone  down  dyah  interferin' 
wid  white  folks ;  an'  she  say  I  ain'  nuver  gwine  have 
no  sense  'bout  not  knowin'  folks,  dat  he  couldn' 
fool  her;  an'  I  don'  b'lieve  he  could,  a'tho'  I  ain' 
'low  dat  to  Hannah,  'cause  hit  don'  do  to  'gree  wid 
wimens  too  much ;  dee  git  mighty  sot  up  by  it,  an* 
den  dee  ain'  al'ays  want  it,  nuther.  Well,  she  went 
in  de  house,  an'  dus'  ev'ything,  an'  fix  all  de  funiture 
straight,  an'  set  de  table  for  two,  a  thing  ain'  been 
done  not  sence  Mistis  tooken  sick ;  an'  den  I  see  her 
gwine  'roun'  de  rose-bushes  mighty  busy,  an'  when 
she  sont  me  in  de  dinin'-room,  dyah  a  whole  parecel 


156  Meh  Lady 

o'  flowers  she  done  put  in  a  blue  dish  in  de  middle  o* 
de  table.  An'  she  jes'  as  'sumptious  'bout  dat  thing 
as  ef  'twuz  a  fifty-cents  somebody  done  gi'  her. 
Well,  den  she  come  out,  an'  sich  a  cookin'  as  she 
hed ;  ef  she  am'  got  more  skillets  an'  spiders  on  dat 
fire  den  I  been  see  dyah  for  I  don'  know  how  long. 
It  fyah  do  me  good  ! 

"  Well,  pres'n'y  heah  dee  come  walkin'  mighty 
aged-like,  an'  I  think  it  all  right,  an'  dee  went  up  on 
de  po'ch  an'  shake  hands  a  long  time,  an'  den,  meh 
King!  you  know  he  tu'n  roun'  an'  come  down  de 
steps,  an'  she  gone  in  de  house  wid  her  handcher  to 
her  eyes,  cryin'.  I  call  Hannah  right  quick  an'  say, 
c  Hi,  Hannah,  good  Gord  A'mighty !  what  de  motter 
now  ? '  an'  Hannah  she  look ;  den  widout  a  wu'd  she 
tu'n  roun'  an'  walk  right  straight  'long  de  pahf  to  de 
house,  an'  went  in  th'oo  de  dinin'-room  an'  into  de 
hall,  an'  dyah  she  fine  de  chile  done  fling  herself  down 
on  her  face  on  de  sofa,  cryin'  like  her  heart  broke ; 
an'  she  ax  her  what  de  matter,  an'  she  say,  *  Nuttin',' 
an*  Hannah  say,  '  What  he  been  sayin'  to  you  ? '  an' 
she  say,  c  Nuttin' ; '  an'  Hannah  say,  *  You  done  sen' 
him  'way?'  an'  she  say,  'Yes.'  Den  Hannah  she 
tell  her  what  Mistis  tell  me  de  day  she  die,  an'  she 
say  she  stop  cryin'  sort  o',  but  she  cotch  hold  de 


Meh  Lady  157 

pillar  right  tight,  an'   she   say     pres'n'y,   '  Please  go 
way,'  an'  Hannah  come  'way  an'  come  outdo's. 

"  An'  de  Cap'n,  when  he  come  down  de  steps,  he 
went  to  Meh  Lady'  rose-bush  an'  pull  a  rose  off  it, 
an'  put  't  in  a  little  book  in  he  pocket ;  an'  den  he 
come  down  todes  we  house,  an'  he  face  mighty  pale 
an'  'strusted  lookin',  an'  he  sut'n'y  wuz  glad  to  see 
me,  an'  he  laugh'  a  little  bit  at  me  for  lettin'  him  fool 
me ;  but  I  tell  him  he  done  got  so  likely  an'  agree- 
able lookin',  dat  de  reason  I  ain'  know  him.  An'  he 
ax  me  to  git  he  horse,  an'  jes'  den  Hannah  come  out 
de  house,  an'  she  ax  him  whar  he  gwine  ;  an'  he  'spon' 
dat  he  gwine  home,  an'  he  don'  reckon  he'll  ever  see 
us  no  mo';  an'  he  say  he  thought  when  he  come  may- 
be 'twould  be  diff'unt,  an'  he  had  hoped  maybe  he'd 
'a'  been  able  to  prove  to  Meh  Lady  some'n  he  wan' 
prove,  an'  get  her  to  le'  him  teck  keer  o'  her  an'  we 
all ;  dat's  what  he  come  ten  thousand  miles  fur,  he 
say ;  but  she  got  some'n  on  her  mine,  he  say,  she 
cyarn'  git  over,  an'  now  he  got  to  go  'way,  an'  he  say 
he  want  us  to  teck  keer  on  her,  an'  stay  wid  her  al'ays, 
and  he  gwine  meek  it  right,  an'  he  gwine  lef '  he  name 
in  Richmon'  wid  a  gent'man,  an'  gi'  me  he  'dress,  an' 
I  mus'  come  up  dyah  ev'y  month  an'  git  what  he 
gwine  lef  dyah,  an'  report  how  we  all  is ;  an'  he  say 


158  Meh  Lady 

he  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  do  now  but  to  try  an'  reward 
us  all  fur  all  our  kindness  to  him,  an'  keep  us  easy, 
but  he  wa'n'  nuver  comin'  back,  he  guess,  'cause  he 
got  no  mo'  hope  now  he  know  Meh  Lady  got  dat  on 
her  mine  he  cyarn'  git  over.  An'  he  look  down  in  de 
gyardin  todes  the  graveyard  when  he  say  dat,  an'  he 
voice  sort  o'  broke.  Hannah  she  heah  him  th'oo 
right  study,  an'  he  face  look  mighty  sorrowful,  an'  he 
voice  done  mos'  gin  out  when  he  say  Meh  Lady  got 
that  on  her  mine  he  cyarn'  git  over. 

"Den  Hannah  she  upped  an'  tole  him  he  sut'n'y 
ain'  got  much  sense  ef  he  come  all  dat  way  he  say,  an' 
gwine  'way  widout  Meh  Lady ;  dat  de  chile  been  dat 
pesterin'  herse'f  sence  her  ma  die  she  ain'  know  what 
she  wan'  mos',  an'  got  on  her  mine  ;  an'  ef  he  ain'  got 
de  dictationment  to  meek  her  know,  he  better  go  'long 
back  whar  he  come  fum,  an'  he  better  ain'  nuver  set 
he  foot  heah ;  an'  she  say  he  sut'n'y  done  gone  back 
sence  he  driv  dem  Yankees  out  de  do'  wid  he  s'o'de, 
an'  settin'  dyah  on  he  nick-tail  horse  at  de  gate  so 
study,  an'  she  say  ef  'twuz  dat  man  he'd  be  married 
dis  evenin'.  Oh !  she  was  real  savigrous  to  him, 
'cause  she  sut'n'y  wuz  outdone  ;  an'  she  tell  him  what 
Mistis  tell  me  de  day  she  'ceasted,  ev'y  wud  jes  like 
I  tell  you  settin'  heah,  an'  she  say,  Now  he  can  go 


Meh  Ladv  J59 

'long,  'cause  ef  he  ain'  gwine  be  pertector  to  de  chile 
de  plenty  mo'  sufferin'  to  be,  dat  dee  pesterin'  her  all 
de  time,  an'  she  jes'  oon'  have  nuttin'  't  all  to  do  wid 
?em,  dat's  all.  Wid  dat  she  tu'n  'roun'  an'  gone  'long 
in  her  house  like  she  ain'  noticin'  him,  an'  he,  suh  ! 
he  look  like  day  done  broke  on  'im.  I  see  darkness 
roll  off  him,  an'  he  tu'n  roun'  an'  stride  'long  back  to 
de  house,  an'  went  up  de  steps  th'ee  at  a  time. 

"An'  dee  say  when  he  went  in,  de  chile  was  dyah 
on  de  sofa  still  wid  her  head  in  de  pillow  cryin',  'cause 
she  sut'n'y  did  keer  for  him  all  de  time,  an'  ever  sence 
he  open  he  eyes  an'  look  at  her  so  cu'yus,  settin'  dyah 
by  him  fannin'  him  all  night  to  keep  him  fum  dyin', 
when  he  layin'  dyah  wounded  in  de  war.  An'  de  on'y 
thing  is  she  ain'  been  able  to  get  her  premission  to 
marry  him  'cause  he  wuz  fightin'  'g'inst  we  all,  an' 
'cause  she  got  't  in  her  mine  dat  Mistis  don'  wan'  her 
to  marry  him  for  dat  recount.  An'  now  he  gone  she 
layin'  dyah  in  de  gre't  hall  cryin'  on  de  sofa  to  herse'f, 
so  she  ain'  heah  him  come  up  de  steps,  tell  he  went 
up  to  her,  and  kneel  down  by  her,  an'  put  he  arm 
'roun'  her  and  talk  to  her  lovin'. 

"Hannah  she  went  in  th'oo  de  chamber  pres'n'y  to 
peep  an'  see  ef  he  got  any  sense  yit,  an'  when  she 
come  back  she  ain'  say  much,  but  she  sont  me  to  de 


160  Meh  Lady 

spring,  an'  set  to  cookin'  ag'in  mighty  induschus,  an* 
she  say  he  tryin'  to  'swade  de  chile  to  marry  him  to- 
morrow. She  oon'  tell  me  nuttin'  mo'  'cep'  dat  de 
chile  seem  mighty  peaceable,  an'  she  don'  know  wherr 
she'll  marry  him  toreckly  or  not,  'cause  she  heah  her 
say  she  ain'  gwine  marry  him  at  all,  an'  she  cyarn' 
marry  him  to-morrow  'cause  she  got  her  school,  an' 
she  ain'  got  no  dress  ;  but  she  place  heap  o'  'pendence 
in  him,  Hannah  say,  an'  he  gone  on  talkin'  mighty 
sensible,  like  he  gwine  marry  her  wherr  or  no,  an'  he 
dat  protectin'  he  done  got  her  head  on  he  shoulder  an' 
talkin'  to  her  jes'  as  'fectionate  as  ef  she  b'longst  to 
him  an' — she  ain'  say  he  kiss  her,  but  I  done  notice 
partic'lar  she  ain'  say  he  ain' ;  an'  she  say  de  chile 
sut'n'y  is  might'  satisfied,  an'  dat  all  she  gwine  recite, 
an'  I  better  go  'long  an'  feed  white-folk's  horse  'stid 
o'  interferin'  'long  dee  business ;  an'  so  I  did,  an'  I  gi' 
him  de  larst  half-peck  o'  meal  Hannah  got  in  de  barrel. 

"  An'  when  I  come  back  to  de  house,  Hannah  done 
cyar  in  de  supper  an'  waitin'  on  de  table,  an'  dee  set- 
tin'  opposite  one  nurr  talkin',  an'  she  po'in  out  he 
tea,  an'  he  tellin'  her  things  to  make  her  pleased  an' 
look  pretty,  'cross  Hannah'  flowers  in  de  blue  bowl 
twix'  'em.  Hit  meek  me  feel  right  young. 

"Well,   after  supper  dee  come  out  an'  went  to 


Meh  Lady  161 

walk  'bout  de  yard,  an'  pres'n'y  dee  stop  at  dat  red 
rose-bush,  and  I  see  him  teck  out  he  pocket-book  an' 
teck  some'n  out  it,  and  she  say  some'n,  an'  he  put  he 
arm — ne'm'  mine,  ef  Hannah  am'  say  he  kiss  her,  I 
know — 'cause  de  moon  come  out  a  little  piece  right 
den  an'  res'  on  'em,  an'  she  sut'n'y  look  beautiful 
wid  her  face  sort  o'  tu'nned  up  to  him,  smilin'. 

"  You  mine,  do',  she  keep  on  tellin'  him  she  ain' 
promise  to  marry  him,  an'  of  co'se  she  cyarn'  marry 
him  to-morrow  like  he  say  ;  she  ain'  nuver  move  rum 
dat.  But  dat  ain'  'sturb  he  mine  now;  he  keep  on 
laughin*  study.  Tell,  'bout  right  smart  while  after 
supper,  he  come  out  an'  ax  me  cyarn'  I  git  he  horse. 
I  say,  '  Hi!  what  de  matter?  Whar  you  gwine?  I 
done  feed  yo'  horse.' 

"  He  laugh  real  hearty,  an'  say  he  gwine  to  de 
Co'te  House,  an*  he  wan'  me  to  go  wid  him ;  don*  I 
think  de  mule  kin  stan'  it  ?  an*  her  mammy  will  teck 
keer  Meh  Lady. 

"  I  tell  him,  c  In  cose,  de  mule  kin  stan'  it/ 

"  So  in  'bout  a  hour  we  wuz  on  de  road,  an'  de 
last  thing  Meh  Lady  say  wuz  she  cyarn'  marry  him ; 
but  he  come  out  de  house  laughin',  an'  he  sut'n'y 
wuz  happy,  an'  he  ax  me  all  sort  o'  questions  'bout 
Meh  Lady,  an'  Marse  Phil,  an'  de  ole  times. 


1 62  Meh  Lady 

"We  went  by  de  preacher's  an'  wake  him  up  befo' 
day,  an'  he  say  he'll  drive  up  dyah  after  breakfast; 
an'  den  we  went  on  'cross  to  de  Co'te  House,  an'  alto- 
gether 'twuz  about  twenty-five  miles,  an'  hit  sut'n'y 
did  push  ole  George  good,  'cause  de  Cun'l  wuz  a 
hard  rider  like  all  we  all  white  folks ;  he  come  mighty 
nigh  givin'  out,  I  tell  you. 

"  We  got  dyah  befo'  breakfast,  an'  wash'  up,  an' 
pres'n'y  de  cluck,  Mr.  Taylor,  come,  an'  de  Cun'l 
went  over  to  de  office.  In  a  minute  he  call  me,  an'  I 
went  over,  an'  soon  as  I  git  in  de  do'  I  see  he  mighty 
pestered.  He  say,  '  Heah,  Billy,  you  know  you'  young 
mistis'  age,  don't  you  ?  I  want  you  to  prove  it.' 

"  c  Hi !  yes,  suh,  co'se  I  knows  it,'  I  says.  *  Want  I 
right  dyah  when  she  born  ?  Mistis  got  she  an' 
Marse  Phil  bofe  set  down  in  de  book  at  home.' 

"  'Well,  jes'  meek  oath  to  it,'  says  he,  easy  like, 
'She's  near  twenty-three,  ain't  she  ? ' 

" '  Well,  'fo'  Gord  !  Marster,  I  don'  know  'bout 
dat,'  says  I.  'You  know  mo'  'bout  dat  'n  I  does,' 
I  says,  *  'cause  you  can  read.  I  know  her  age,'  I  says, 
'  'cause  I  right  dyah  when  she  born;  but  how  ole  she 
is,  I  don'  know,'  I  says. 

" '  Cyarn'  you  swear  she's  twenty-one  ? '  says  he, 
right  impatient. 


Meh  Lady  163 

' '  Well,  nor,  suh,  dat  I  cyarn', '  I  says. 

"  Well,  he  sut'n'y  looked  aggrivated,  but  he  ain' 
say  nuttin',  he jes'  tu'n  to  Mr.  Taylor  an'  say: 

"  '  Kin  I  get  a  fresh  horse  heah,  suh  ?  I  kin  ride 
home  an'  get  de  proof  an'  be  back  heah  in  five  hours, 
ef  I  can  get  a  fresh  horse ;  I'll  buy  him  and  pay  well 
for  him,  too.' 

"  '  It's  forty  miles  dyah  and  back,'  says  Mr.  Taylor. 

"  *  I  kin  do  it ;  I'll  be  back  heah  at  half-past  twelve 
o'clock  sharp,'  says  de  Cun'l,  puttin'  up  he  watch  an' 
pullin'  on  he  gloves  an'  tu'nnin'  to  de  do'. 

"  Well,  he  look  so  sure  o'  what  he  kin  do,  I  feel 
like  I  'bleeged  to  help  him,  an'  I  say : 

" '  I  ain't  know  wherr  Meh  Lady  twenty-th'ee  or 
twenty-one,  'cause  I  ain'  got  no  larnin',  but  I  know 
she  born  on  a  Sunday  de  thrashin' -wheat  time  two 
year  after  Marse  Phil  wuz  born,  whar  I  cyar'  in  dese 
ahms  on  de  horse  when  he  wuz  a  baby,  an'  whar  went 
in  de  ahmy,  an'  got  kilt  leadin'  he  bat'ry  in  de  battle 
'cross  de  oat-fiel'  down  todes  Williamsbu'g,  an'  de 
gener'l  say  he'd  ruther  been  him  den  President  de 
Confederate  States,  an'  he's  'sleep  by  he  ma  in  de  ole 
gyardin  at  home  now;  I  bury  him  dyah,  an'  hit's 
"  Cun'l "  on  he  tombstone  dyah  now.' 

"  De  Cun'l  tu'n  roun'  an'  look  at  Mr.  Taylor,  an* 


1 64  Meh  Lady 

Mr.  Taylor  look  out  de  winder  ('cause  he  know  'twuz 
so,  'cause  he  wuz  in  Marse  Phil'  bat'ry). 

"  *  You  needn'  teck  you'  ride,'  says  he,  sort  o* 
whisperin'.  An'  de  Cun'l  pick  up  a  pen  an'  write  a 
little  while,  an'  den  he  read  it,  an'  he  had  done  write 
jes'  what  I  say,  wud  for  wud ;  an'  Mr.  Taylor  meek  me 
kiss  de  book,  'cause  'twuz  true,  an'  he  say  he  gwine 
spread  it  in  de  c  Reecord '  jes'  so,  for  all  de  wull  to  see. 

"Den  we  come  on  home,  I  ridin'  a  horse  de  Cun'l 
done  hire  to  rest  de  mule,  an'  I  mos'  tired  as  he,  but 
de  Cun'l  he  ridin'  jes'  as  fresh  as  ef  he  jes'  start;  an' 
he  brung  me  a  nigh  way  whar  he  learnt  in  de  war,  he 
say,  when  he  used  to  slip  th'oo  de  lines  an'  come  at 
night  forty  miles  jes'  to  look  at  de  house  an'  see  de 
light  shine  in  Meh  Lady'  winder,  while  I  studyin'. 

"  De  preacher  an'  he  wife  wuz  dyah  when  we  git 
home ;  but  you  know  Meh  Lady  ain'  satisfied  in  her 
mine  yit  ?  She  say  she  do  love  him,  but  she  don' 
know  wherr  she  ought  to  marry  him,  'cause  she  ain' 
got  nobody  to  'vise  her.  But  he  say  he  gwine  be  her 
Viser  from  dis  time,  an'  he  lead  her  to  de  do'  an'  kiss 
her ;  an'  she  went  to  git  ready,  an'  de  turr  lady  wid 
her,  an'  her  mammy  wait  on  her,  while  I  wait  on  de 
Cun'l,  an'  be  he  body-servant,  an'  git  he  warm  water 
to  shave,  an'  he  cut  off  all  he  beard  'sep'  he  mustache, 


Meh  Lady  165 

'cause  Meh  Lady  jes'  say  de  man  she  knew  didn'  hed 
no  beard  on  he  face.  An*  Hannah  she  sut'n'y  wuz 
comical,  she  ironin'  an'  sewin'  dyah  so  induschus  she 
oon'  le'  me  come  in  meh  own  house. 

"  Well,  pres'n'y  we  wuz  ready,  an'  we  come  out  in 
de  hall,  an'  de  Cun'l  went  in  de  parlor  whar  dee  wuz 
gwine  be  married,  an'  de  preacher  he  wuz  in  dyah, 
an'  dee  chattin'  while  we  waitin'  fur  Meh  Lady  ;  an'  I 
jes'  slip  out  an'  got  up  in  de  j'ice  an'  git  out  dem  lit- 
tle rocks  whar  Mistis  gin'  me  an'  blow  de  dust  off  'em 
good,  and  good  Gord  !  ef  dee  didn'  shine  !  I  put  'em 
in  meh  pocket  an'  put  on  meh  clean  shu't  an'  come 
'long  back  to  de  house.  Hit  right  late  now,  todes 
evenin',  an'  de  sun  wuz  shinin'  all  'cross  de  yard  an' 
th'oo  de  house,  an'  de  Cun'l  he  so  impatient  he  cyarn' 
set  still,  he  jes'  champin'  he  bit ;  so  he  git  up  an' 
walk  'bout  in  de  hall,  an'  he  sut'n'y  look  handsome  an' 
young,  jes'  like  he  did  dat  day  he  stand  dyah  wid  he 
cap  in  he  hand,  an'  Meh  Lady  say  she  am'  claim  no  kin 
wid  him,  an'  he  say  he  cyarn'  intrude  on  ladies,  an' 
back  out  de  front  do'  so  gran',  wid  he  head  straight 
up,  an'  ride  to  git  her  de  letter,  an'  now  he  walkin'  in 
de  hall  waitin'  to  marry  her.  An'  all  on  a  sudden, 
Hannah  fling  de  do'  wide  open,  an'  Meh  Lady  walked 
out! 


1 66  Meh  Lady 

"  Gord  !  ef  I  didn'  think  'twuz  a  angel. 

"  She  stan'  dyah  jes'  white  as  snow  fum  her  head  to 
way  back  down  on  de  flo'  behine  her,  an'  her  veil  done 
fall  roun'  her  like  white  mist,  an'  she  had  some  roses 
in  her  han'.  Ef  it  didn'  look  like  de  sun  done  come 
th'oo  de  chamber  do'  wid  her,  an'  blaze  all  over  de 
styars,  an'  de  Cun'l  he  look  like  she  bline  him.  An' 
'twuz  Hannah  an'  she,  while  we  wuz  'way  dat  day, 
done  fine  Mistis'  weddin'  dress  an'  veil  an'  all,  down 
to  de  fan  an'  little  slippers  'bout  big  as  two  little 
white  ears  o'  pop-corn  ;  an'  de  dress  had  sort  o'  cob- 
webs all  over  it,  whar  Hannah  say  was  lace,  an'  hit  jes' 
fit  Meh  Lady  like  Gord  put  it  dyah  in  de  trunk  for  her. 

"  Well,  when  de  Cun'l  done  tell  her  how  beautiful 
she  is,  an'  done  meek  her  walk  'bout  de  hall  showin' 
her  train,  an'  she  lookin'  over  her  shoulder  at  it  an' 
den  at  de  Cun'l  to  see  ef  he  proud  on  her,  he  gin  her 
he  arm  ;  an'  jes'  den  I  walk  up  befo'  her  an'  teck  dem 
things  out  meh  pocket,  an'  de  Cun'l  drap  her  arm  an' 
stan'  back,  an'  I  put  'em  'roun'  her  thote  an'  on  her 
arms,  an'  gin  her  de  res',  an'  Hannah  put  'em  on  her 
ears,  an'  dee  shine  like  stars,  but  her  face  shine  wus'n 
dem,  an'  she  leetle  mo'  put  bofe  arms  'roun'  meh  neck, 
wid  her  eyes  jes'  runnin'  over.  An'  den  de  Cun'l  gi' 
her  he  arm,  an'  dee  went  in  de  parlor,  an'  Hannah  an' 


Meh  Lady  167 

me  behine  'em.  An*  dyah,  facin'  Mistis'  picture  an 
Marse  Phil's  (tooken  when  he  wuz  a  little  boy), 
lookin'  down  at  'em  bofe,  dee  wuz  married. 

"An'  when  de  preacher  git  to  dat  part  whar  ax 
who  gin  dis  woman  to  de  man  to  be  he  wife,  he  sort 
o'  wait  an'  he  eye  sort  o'  rove  to  me  discomfused  like 
he  ax  me  ef  I  know ;  an'  I  don'  know  huccome  'twuz, 
but  I  think  'bout  Marse  Jeems  an'  Mistis  when  he 
ax  me  dat,  an'  'bout  Marse  Phil,  whar  all  dead,  an' 
all  de  scufflin'  we  done  been  th'oo,  an'  how  de  chile 
ain'  got  nobody  to  teck  her  part  now  'sep'  jes'  me ; 
an'  now,  when  he  wait  an'  look  at  me  dat  way,  an'  ax 
me  dat,  I  'bleeged  to  speak  up : — I  jes'  step  for'ard 
an'  say : 

"<01e  Billy.' 

"  An'  jes'  den  de  sun  crawl  roun'  de  winder  shetter 
an'  res'  on  her  like  it  pourin'  light  all  over  her. 

"  An'  dat  night  when  de  preacher  was  gone  wid 
he  wife,  an'  Hannah  done  drapt  off  to  sleep,  I  wuz 
settin'  in  de  do'  wid  meh  pipe,  an'  I  heah  'em  settin' 
dyah  on  de  front  steps,  dee  voice  soun'in'  low  like 
bees,  an'  de  moon  sort  o'  meltin'  over  de  yard,  an'  I 
sort  o'  got  to  studyin',  an'  hit  'pear  like  de  plantation 
'live  once  mo',  an'  de  ain'  no  mo'  scufflin',  an'  de  ole 
times  done  come  back  ag'in,  an'  I  heah  me  kerridge- 


1 68  Meh  Lady 

horses  stompin*  in  de  stalls,  an*  de  place  all  cleared 
up  ag'in,  an'  fence  all  roun'  de  pahsture,  an'  I  smell 
de  wet  clover-blossoms  right  good,  an'  Marse  Phil 
an'  Meh  Lady  done  come  back,  an'  runnin'  all  roun' 
me,  climbin'  up  on  meh  knees,  callin'  me  *  Unc'  Billy,' 
an'  pesterin'  me  to  go  fishin',  while  somehow,  Meh 
Lady  an'  de  Cun'l,  settin'  dyah  on  de  steps  wid  dee 

voice  hummin'  low  like  water  runnin'  in  de  dark — 
******** 

"An'  dat  Phil,  suh," — he  broke  off,  rising  from 
the  ground  on  which  we  had  been  seated  for  some 
time,  "dat  Phil,  suh,  he  mo'  like  Marse  Phil'n  he 
like  he  pa;  an'  little  Billy — he  ain'  so  ole,  but  he 
ain'  fur  behines  him." 

"Billy,"  I  said;  "he's  named  after—?" 
"Go  'way,  Marster,"  he  said  deprecatingly,  "who 
gwine  name  gent'man  after  a  ole  nigger  ?  " 


OLE    'STRACTED 


OLE    'STRACTED 

44  A  WE,  little  Efhum  /—Awe,  little  E-phum  !  Ef 
/-\  you  don'  come  'long  heah,  boy,  an'  rock  dis 
chile  I'll  buss  you  haid  open  ! "  screamed  the 
high-pitched  voice  of  a  woman,  breaking  the  stillness 
of  the  summer  evening.  She  had  just  come  to  the 
door  of  the  little  cabin  where  she  was  now  standing, 
anxiously  scanning  the  space  before  her,  while  a  baby's 
plaintive  wail  rose  and  fell  within  with  wearying  mo- 
notony. The  log  cabin,  set  in  a  gall  in  the  middle  of 
an  old  field  all  grown  up  in  sassafras,  was  not  a  very 
inviting-looking  place  :  a  few  hens  loitering  about  the 
new  hen-house,  a  brood  of  half-grown  chickens  pick- 
ing in  the  grass  and  watching  the  door,  and  a  runty 
pig  tied  to  a  "  stob,"  were  the  only  signs  of  thrift.  Yet 
the  face  of  the  woman  cleared  up  as  she  gazed  about 
her  and  afar  off,  where  the  gleam  of  green  made  a 
pleasant  spot,  where  the  corn  grew  in  the  river-bottom ; 
for  it  was  her  home,  and  the  best  of  all  was  that  she 
thought  it  belonged  to  them. 


1 72  Ole  'Stracted 

A  rumble  of  distant  thunder  caught  her  ear,  and  she 
stepped  down  and  took  a  well-worn  garment  from  the 
clothes-line,  stretched  between  two  dog-wood  forks, 
and  having,  after  a  keen  glance  down  the  path  through 
the  bushes,  satisfied  herself  that  no  one  was  in  sight, 
she  returned  to  the  house,  and  the  baby's  voice  rose 
louder  than  before.  The  mother,  as  she  set  out  her 
ironing  table,  raised  a  dirge -like  hymn,  which  she 
chanted,  partly  from  habit  and  partly  in  self-defence. 
She  ironed  carefully  the  ragged  shirt  she  had  just  taken 
from  the  line,  and  then,  after  some  search,  finding  a 
needle  and  cotton,  she  drew  a  rickety  chair  to  the 
door  and  proceeded  to  mend  the  garment. 

"  Dis  de  on'ies'  shut  Ole  'Stracted  got,"  she  said,  as 
if  in  apology  to  herself  for  being  so  careful. 

The  cloud  slowly  gathered  over  the  pines  in  the 
direction  of  the  path ;  the  fowls  carefully  tripped  up 
the  notched  pole,  and  after  a  prudent  pause  at  the 
hole,  disappeared  one  by  one  within;  the  chickens 
picked  in  a  gradually  contracting  circuit,  and  finally 
one  or  two  stole  furtively  to  the  cabin  door,  and  after 
a  brief  reconnoissance  came  in,  and  fluttered  up  the 
ladder  to  the  loft,  where  they  had  been  born,  and  yet 
roosted.  Once  more  the  baby's  voice  prevailed,  and 
once  more  the  woman  went  to  the  door,  and,  looking 


Ole  'Stracted  173 

down  the  path,  screamed,  "  Awe,  little  Ephum  !  awe, 
little  Ephum ! " 

"  Ma'm,"  came  the  not  very  distant  answer  from  the 
bushes. 

"  Why  'n't  you  come  'long  heah,  boy,  an'  rock  dis 
chile  <? " 

"  Yes'm,  I  comin',"  came  the  answer.  She  waited, 
watching,  until  there  emerged  from  the  bushes  a  queer 
little  caravan,  headed  by  a  small  brat,  who  staggered 
under  the  weight  of  another  apparently  nearly  as  large 
and  quite  as  black  as  himself,  whilst  several  more  of 
various  degrees  of  diminutiveness  straggled  along  be- 
hind. 

"  Ain't  you  heah  me  callin'  you,  boy  ?  You  better 
come  when  I  call  you.  I'll  tyah  you  all  to  pieces  ! " 
pursued  the  woman,  in  the  angriest  of  keys,  her  coun- 
tenance, however,  appearing  unruffled.  The  head  of 
the  caravan  stooped  and  deposited  his  burden  carefully 
on  the  ground ;  then,  with  a  comical  look  of  mingled 
alarm  and  penitence,  he  slowly  approached  the  door, 
keeping  his  eye  watchfully  on  his  mother,  and,  pick- 
ing his  opportunity,  slipped  in  past  her,  dodging  skil- 
fully just  enough  to  escape  a  blow  which  she  aimed  at 
him,  and  which  would  have  "  slapped  him  flat "  had 
it  struck  him,  but  which,  in  truth,  was  intended  merely 


174  Ole  'Stracted 

to  warn  and  keep  him  in  wholesome  fear,  and  was 
purposely  aimed  high  enough  to  miss  him,  allowing 
for  the  certain  dodge. 

The  culprit,  having  stifled  the  whimper  with  which 
he  was  prepared,  flung  himself  into  the  foot  of  the 
rough  plank  box-cradle,  and  began  to  rock  it  violently 
and  noisily,  using  one  leg  as  a  lever,  and  singing  an 
accompaniment,  of  which  the  only  words  that  rose 
above  the  loud  noise  of  the  rockers  were,  "  By-a-by, 
don't  you  cry;  go  to  sleep,  little  ba-by."  And  sure 
enough  the  baby  stopped  crying  and  went  to  sleep. 

Eph  watched  his  mammy  furtively  as  she  scraped 
away  the  ashes  and  laid  the  thick  pone  of  dough  on 
the  hearth,  and  shovelled  the  hot  ashes  upon  it.  Sup- 
per would  be  ready  directly,  and  it  was  time  to  propi- 
tiate her.  He  bethought  himself  of  a  message. 

"  Mammy,  Ole  'Stracted  say  you  must  bring  he 
shut :  he  say  he  marster  comin'  to-night." 

"  How  he  say  he  is  ?  "  inquired  the  woman,  with 
some  interest. 

"  He  ain'  say — -jes  say  he  want  he  shut.  He  sutny 
is  comical — he  layin'  down  in  de  baid."  Then,  having 
relieved  his  mind,  Eph  too  went  to  sleep  in  the  cradle. 

"  '  Layin'  down  in  de  baid  ?'  "  muttered  the  woman 
to  herself  as  she  moved  about  the  room.  "  I  ain' 


Ok  'Stracted  175 

nuver  'hearn  'bout  dat  befo'.  Dat  sutny  is  a  comical 
ole  man  anyways.  He  say  he  used  to  live  on  dis 
plantation,  an'  yit  he  al'ays  talkin'  'bout  de  gret  house 
an'  de  fine  kerridges  dee  used  to  have,  an'  'bout  he 
marster  comin'  to  buy  him  back.  De  'ain'  nuver  been 
no  gret  house  on  dis  place,  not  sence  I  know  nuttin 
'bout  it,  'sep'  de  overseer  house  whar  dat  man  live.  I 
heah  Ephum  say  Aunt  Dinah  tell  him  de  ole  house 
whar  used  to  be  on  de  hill  whar  dat  gret  oak-tree  is  in 
de  pines  bu'nt  down  de  year  he  wuz  born,  an'  he  ole 
marster  had  to  live  in  de  overseer  house,  an'  hit  break 
he  heart,  an'  dee  teck  all  he  niggers,  an'  dat's  de  way 
he  come  to  blongst  to  we  all ;  but  dat  ole  man  ain' 
know  nuttin  'bout  dat  house,  'cause  hit  bu'nt  down.  I 
wonder  whar  he  did  come  from  *?  "  she  pursued,  "  an' 
what  he  sho'  'nough  name  *?  He  sholy  couldn'  been 
named  *  Ole  'Stracted,'  jes'  so :  dat  ain'  no  name  't  all. 

"Yit  ef  he  ain'  'stracted,  'tain'  nobody  is.  He  ain' 
even  know  he  own  name,"  she  continued,  presently. 
"  Say  he  marster  '11  know  him  when  he  come — ain'  know 
de  folks  is  free  ;  say  he  marster  gwi  buy  him  back  in 
de  summer  an'  kyar  him  home,  an'  'bout  de  money  he 
gwine  gi'  him.  Ef  he  got  any  money,  I  wonder  he 
live  down  dyah  in  dat  evil-sperit  hole."  And  the 
woman  glanced  around  with  great  complacency  on  the 


176  Ole  'Stracted 

picture-pasted  walls  of  her  own  by  no  means  sumptu- 
ously furnished  house. 

"  Money  !  "  she  repeated  aloud,  as  she  began  to  rake 
in  the  ashes,  "  He  am'  got  nuttin.  I  got  to  kyar  him 
piece  o'  dis  bread  now."  And  she  went  off  into  a 
dream  of  what  they  would  do  when  the  big  crop  on 
their  land  should  be  all  in,  and  the  last  payment  made 
on  the  house ;  of  what  she  would  wear,  and  how  she 
would  dress  the  children,  and  the  appearance  she  would 
make  at  "  meeting ;  "  not  reflecting  that  the  sum  they 
had  paid  on  the  property  had  never,  even  with  all 
their  stinting,  amounted  in  any  one  year  to  more  than 
a  few  dollars  over  the  rent  charged  for  the  place,  and 
that  the  eight  hundred  dollars  yet  due  on  it  was  more 
than  they  could  make  at  the  present  rate  in  a  lifetime. 

"  Ef  Ephum  jes  had  a  mule,  or  even  somebody  to 
help  him,"  she  thought,  "  but  he  ain'  got  nuttin.  De 
chil'n  ain'  big  'nough  to  do  nuttin  but  eat ;  he  'ain' 
got  no  brurrs,  an'  he  deddy  took  'way  an'  sold  down 
Souf  de  same  time  my  old  marster  whar  dead  buy 
him ;  dat's  what  I  al'ays  heah  'em  say,  an'  I  know  he's 
dead  long  befo'  dis,  'cause  I  heah  'em  say  dese  Virginia 
niggers  earn  stan'  hit  long  deah,  hit  so  hot,  hit  friz- 
zle 'em  up,  an'  I  reckon  he  die  befo'  he  ole  marster, 
whar  I  heah  say  die  of  a  broked  heart  torectly  after 


Ole  'Stracted  177 

dee  teck  he  niggers  an'  sell  'em  befo'  he  face.  I  heah 
Aunt  Dinah  say  dat,  an'  dat  he  might'ly  sot  on  he  ole 
servants,  spressaly  on  Ephum  deddy,  whar  named  Lit- 
tle Ephum,  an'  whar  used  to  wait  on  him.  Dis  mus'  'a* 
been  a  gret  place  dem  days,  'cordin'  to  what  dee  say," 
she  went  on.  "  Dee  say  he  sutny  live  strong  :  wuz  jes 
rich  as  cream,  an'  weahed  he  blue  coat  an'  brass  but- 
tons, an'  lived  in  dat  ole  house  whar  wuz  up  whar  de 
pines  is  now,  an'  whar  bu'nt  down,  like  he  owned  de 
wull.  An'  now  look  at  it !  dat  man  own  it  all,  an' 
cuttin'  all  de  woods  off  it.  He  don'  know  nuttin 
'bout  black  folks,  ain'  nuver  been  fotch  up  wid  'em. 
Who  ever  heah  he  name  'fo'  he  come  heah  an'  buy  de 
place,  an'  move  in  de  overseer  house,  an'  charge  we  all 
eight  hundred  dollars  for  dis  land,  jes  'cause  it  got  lit- 
tle piece  o'  bottom  on  it,  an'  forty-eight  dollars  rent 
besides,  wid  he  ole  stingy  wife  whar  oon'  even  gi'  'way 
buttermilk  !  "  An  expression  of  mingled  disgust  and 
contempt  concluded  the  reflection. 

She  took  the  ash-cake  out  of  the  ashes,  slapped  it 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  with  her  hand, 
dusted  it  with  her  apron,  and  walked  to  the  door  and 
poured  over  it  a  gourd  of  water  from  the  piggin. 
Then  she  divided  it  in  half;  one  half  she  set  up  against 
the  side  of  the  chimney,  the  other  she  broke  up  into 


178  Ok  'Stracted 

smaller  pieces  and  distributed  among  the  children, 
dragging  the  sleeping  Eph,  limp  and  soaked  with 
sleep,  from  the  cradle  to  receive  his  share.  Her  man- 
ner was  not  rough — was  perhaps  even  tender — but 
she  used  no  caresses,  as  a  white  woman  would  have 
done  under  the  circumstances.  It  was  only  toward 
the  baby  at  the  breast  that  she  exhibited  any  endear- 
ments. Her  nearest  approach  to  it  with  the  others 
was  when  she  told  them,  as  she  portioned  out  the  ash- 
cake,  "  Mammy  'ain't  got  nuttin  else ;  but  nem  min', 
she  gwine  have  plenty  o'  good  meat  next  year,  when 
deddy  done  pay  for  he  land." 

"Hi!  who  dat  out  dyah?"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"  Run  to  de  do',  son,  an'  see  who  dat  comin',"  and 
the  whole  tribe  rushed  to  inspect  the  newcomer. 

It  was,  as  she  suspected,  her  husband,  and  as  soon 
as  he  entered  she  saw  that  something  was  wrong.  He 
dropped  into  a  chair,  and  sat  in  moody  silence  the 
picture  of  fatigue,  physical  and  mental.  After  waiting 
for  some  time,  she  asked,  indifferently,  "  What  de 
matter  ?  " 

"  Dat  man — ." 

"  What  he  done  do  now  *?  "  The  query  was  sharp 
with  suspicion. 

"  He  say  he  ain'  gwine  le'  me  have  my  land." 


Ok  'Stracted  179 

"  He's  a  half-strainer,"  said  the  woman,  with  sudden 
anger.  "  How  he  gwine  help  it  ?  Ain'  you  got  crap 
on  it  *?  "  She  felt  that  there  must  be  a  defence  against 
such  an  outrage. 

"  He  say  he  ain'  gwine  wait  no  longer ;  dat  I  wuz 
to  have  tell  Christmas  to  finish  payin*  for  it,  an'  I  ain' 
do  it,  an'  now  he  done  change  he  min'." 

"  Tell  dis  Christmas  comin',"  said  his  wife,  with  the 
positiveness  of  one  accustomed  to  expound  contracts. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  tell  you  he  say  he  done  change  he 
mine."  The  man  had  evidently  given  up  all  hope ;  he 
was  dead  beat. 

"De  crap's  yourn,"  said  she,  affected  by  his  sur- 
render, but  prepared  only  to  compromise. 

"  He  say  he  gwine  teck  all  dat  for  de  rent,  and  dat 
he  gwine  drive  Ole  'Stracted  way  too." 

"  He  ain'  nuttin  but  po'  white  trash ! "  It  expressed 
her  supreme  contempt. 

"  He  say  he'll  gi'  me  jes  one  week  mo'  to  pay  him 
all  he  ax  for  it,"  continued  he,  forced  to  a  correction 
by  her  intense  feeling,  and  the  instinct  of  a  man  to 
defend  the  absent  from  a  woman's  attack,  and  perhaps 
also  in  the  hope  that  she  might  suggest  some  escape. 

"  He  ain'  nuttin  sep  po'  white  trash !  "  she  repeated. 
"  How  you  gwine  raise  eight  hundred  dollars  at  once  ? 


i8o  Ole  'Stracted 


Dee  kyarn  nobody  do  dat.     Gord  mout !     He  ain' 
got  good  sense." 

"  You  ain'  see  meh  corn  lately,  is  you  *?  "  he  asked. 
*'  Hit  jes  as  rank !  You  can  almos'  see  it  growin'  ef 
you  look  at  it  good.  Dat's  strong  land.  I  know  dat 
when  I  buy  it." 

He  knew  it  was  gone  now,  but  he  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  calling  it  his  for  the  past  three  years,  and 
it  did  him  good  to  claim  the  ownership  a  little  longer. 

"  I  wonder  whar  Marse  Johnny  is  *?  "  said  the  woman. 
He  was  the  son  of  her  former  owner ;  and  now,  finding 
her  proper  support  failing  her,  she  instinctively  turned 
to  him.  "  He  wouldn*  let  him  turn  we  all  out." 

"  He  ain'  got  nuttin,  an  ef  he  is,  he  kyarn  git  it  in 
a  week,"  said  Ephraim. 
.  "  Kyarn  you  teck  it  in  de  co't  ?  " 

"  Dat's  whar  he  say  he  gwine  have  it  ef  I  don'  git 
out,"  said  her  husband,  despairingly. 

Her  last  defence  was  gone. 

"Ain'  you  hongry?"  she  inquired. 

"  What  you  got?" 

"  I  jes  gwine  kill  a  chicken  for  you." 

It  was  her  nearest  approach  to  tenderness,  and  he 
knew  it  was  a  mark  of  special  attention,  for  all  the 
chickens  and  eggs  had  for  the  past  three  years  gone 


Ole  'Stracted  181 


to  swell  the  fund  which  was  to  buy  the  home,  and  it 
was  only  on  special  occasions  that  one  was  spared  for 
food. 

The  news  that  he  was  to  be  turned  out  of  his  home 
had  fallen  on  him  like  a  blow,  and  had  stunned  him ; 
he  could  make  no  resistance,  he  could  form  no  plans. 
He  went  into  a  rough  estimate  as  he  waited. 

"  Le'  me  see :  I  done  wuck  for  it  three  years  dis 
Christmas  done  gone ;  how  much  does  dat  meek  ?  " 

"An'  fo'  dollars,  an'  five  dollars,  an'  two  dollars  an' 
a  half  last  Christmas  from  de  chickens,  an'  all  dem 
ducks  I  done  sell  he  wife,  an'  de  washin'  I  been  doin' 
for  'em' ;  how  much  is  dat  ?  "  supplemented  his  wife. 

"  Dat's  what  I  say ! " 

His  wife  endeavored  vainly  to  remember  the  amount 
she  had  been  told  it  was;  but  the  unaccounted-for 
washing  changed  the  sum  and  destroyed  her  reliance 
on  the  result.  And  as  the  chicken  was  now  approach- 
ing perfection,  and  required  her  undivided  attention, 
she  gave  up  the  arithmetic  and  applied  herself  to  her 
culinary  duties. 

Ephraim  also  abandoned  the  attempt,  and  waited  in 
a  reverie,  in  which  he  saw  corn  stand  so  high  and  rank 
over  his  land  that  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the 
balk,  and  a  stable  and  barn  and  a  mule,  or  maybe  two 


1 82  Ole  'Stracted 


— it  was  a  possibility — and  two  cows  which  his  wife 
would  milk,  and  a  green  wagon  driven  by  his  boys, 
while  he  took  it  easy  and  gave  orders  like  a  master, 
and  a  clover  patch,  and  wheat,  and  he  saw  the  yellow 
grain  waving,  and  heard  his  sons  sing  the  old  harvest 
song  of  "  Cool  Water  "  while  they  swung  their  cradles, 
and — 

"  You  say  he  gwine  turn  Ole  'Stracted  out,  too  ?  " 
inquired  his  wife,  breaking  the  spell.  The  chicken 
was  done  now,  and  her  mind  reverted  to  the  all-en- 
grossing subject. 

"  Yes ;  say  he  tired  o'  ole  'stracted  nigger  livin'  on 
he  place  an'  payin'  no  rent." 

v  Good  Gord  A'mighty  !  Pay  rent  for  dat  ole  pile 
o'  logs !  Ain't  he  been  mendin'  he  shoes  an'  harness 
for  rent  all  dese  years  *?  " 

"  'Twill  kill  dat  ole  man  to  tu'n  him  out  dat  house," 
said  Ephraim ;  "  he  ain'  nuver  stay  away  from  dyah  a 
hour  sence  he  come  heah." 

"  Sutny  'twill,"  assented  his  wife ;  then  she  added 
in  reply  to  the  rest  of  the  remark,  "  Nuver  mine ;  den 
we'll  see  what  he  got  in  dyah."  To  a  woman,  that 
was  at  least  some  compensation.  Ephraim's  thoughts 
had  taken  a  new  direction. 

"  He  al'ays  feared  he  marster  'd  come  for  him  while 


Ole  'Stracted  183 

he  'way,"  he  said,  in  mere  continuance  of  his  last 
remark. 

"  He  sen'  me  wud  he  marster  comin'  to-night,  an' 
he  want  he  shut,"  said  his  wife,  as  she  handed  him  his 
supper.  Ephraim's  face  expressed  more  than  interest ; 
it  was  tenderness  which  softened  the  rugged  lines  as 
he  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  Perhaps  he  thought  of 
the  old  man's  loneliness,  and  of  his  own  father  torn 
away  and  sold  so  long  ago,  before  he  could  even  re- 
member, and  perhaps  very  dimly  of  the  beauty  of  the 
sublime  devotion  of  this  poor  old  creature  to  his  love 
and  his  trust,  holding  steadfast  beyond  memory,  be- 
yond reason,  after  the  knowledge  even  of  his  own 
identity  and  of  his  very  name  was  lost. 

The  woman  caught  the  contagion  of  his  sympathy. 

"De  chil'n  say  he  mighty  comical,  an*  he  layin' 
down  in  de  baid,"  she  said. 

Ephraim  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  Whar  you  gwine  *?  " 

"  I  must  go  to  see  'bout  him,"  he  said,  simply. 

"A in'  you  gwine  finish  eatin"?" 

"  I  gwine  kyar  dis  to  him." 

"  Well,  I  kin  cook  you  anurr  when  we  come  back," 
said  his  wife,  with  ready  acquiescence. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  the  way,  going  sin- 


1 84  Ok  'Stracted 

gle  file  down  the  path  through  the  sassafras,  along 
which  little  Eph  and  his  followers  had  come  an  hour 
before,  the  man  in  the  lead  and  his  wife  following, 
and,  according  to  the  custom  of  their  race,  carrying 
the  bundles :  one  the  surrendered  supper  and  the  other 
the  neatly  folded  and  well-patched  shirt  in  which  Ole 
'Stracted  hoped  to  meet  his  long-expected  loved  ones. 
As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  ruinous  little  hut 
which  had  been  the  old  man's  abode  since  his  sudden 
appearance  in  the  neighborhood  a  few  years  after  the 
war,  they  observed  that  the  bench  beside  the  door 
was  deserted,  and  that  the  door  stood  ajar — two  cir- 
cumstances which  neither  of  them  remembered  ever  to 
have  seen  before ;  for  in  all  the  years  in  which  he  had 
been  their  neighbor  Ole  'Stracted  had  never  admitted 
any  one  within  his  door,  and  had  never  been  known 
to  leave  it  open.  In  mild  weather  he  occupied  a 
bench  outside,  where  he  either  cobbled  shoes  for  his 
neighbors,  accepting  without  question  anything  they 
paid  him,  or  else  sat  perfectly  quiet,  with  the  air  of  a 
person  waiting  for  some  one.  He  held  only  the 
briefest  communication  with  anybody,  and  was  be- 
lieved by  some  to  have  intimate  relations  with  the 
Evil  One,  and  his  tumble-down  hut,  which  he  was 
particular  to  keep  closely  daubed,  was  thought  by 


In  mild  weather  he  occupied  a  bench  outside 


Ole  'Stracted  185 


such  as  took  this  view  of  the  matter  to  be  the  temple 
where  he  practised  his  unholy  rites.  For  this  reason, 
and  because  the  little  cabin,  surrounded  by  dense 
pines  and  covered  with  vines  which  the  popular  be- 
lief held  "  pizonous,"  was  the  most  desolate  abode  a 
human  being  could  have  selected,  most  of  the  dwellers 
in  that  section  gave  the  place  a  wide  berth,  especially 
toward  nightfall,  and  Ole  'Stracted  would  probably 
have  suffered  but  for  the  charity  of  Ephraim  and  his 
wife,  who,  although  often  wanting  the  necessaries  of 
life  themselves,  had  long  divided  what  they  had  with 
their  strange  neighbor.  Yet  even  they  had  never  been 
admitted  inside  his  door,  and  knew  no  more  of  him 
than  the  other  people  about  the  settlement  knew. 

His  advent  in  the  neighborhood  had  been  mys- 
terious. The  first  that  was  known  of  him  was  one 
summer  morning,  when  he  was  found  sitting  on  the 
bench  beside  the  door  of  this  cabin,  which  had  long 
been  unoccupied  and  left  to  decay.  He  was  unable 
to  give  any  account  of  himself,  except  that  he  always 
declared  that  he  had  been  sold  by  some  one  other  than 
his  master  from  that  plantation ;  that  his  wife  and  boy 
had  been  sold  to  some  other  person  at  the  same  time 
for  twelve  hundred  dollars  (he  was  particular  as  to 
the  amount),  and  that  his  master  was  coming  in  the 


1 86  Ole  'Stracted 


summer  to  buy  him  back  and  take  him  home,  and 
would  bring  him  his  wife  and  child  when  he  came. 
Everything  since  that  day  was  a  blank  to  him,  and 
as  he  could  not  tell  the  name  of  his  master  or  wife,  or 
even  his  own  name,  and  as  no  one  was  left  old  enough 
to  remember  him,  the  neighborhood  having  been  en- 
tirely deserted  after  the  war,  he  passed  as  simply  a 
harmless  old  imbecile  laboring  under  a  delusion.  He 
was  devoted  to  children,  and  Ephraim's  small  brood 
were  his  chief  delight.  They  were  not  at  all  afraid  of 
him,  and  whenever  they  got  a  chance  they  would  slip 
off  and  steal  down  to  his  house,  where  they  might  be 
found  any  time  squatting  about  his  feet,  listening  to 
his  accounts  of  his  expected  visit  from  his  master,  and 
what  he  was  going  to  do  afterward.  It  was  all  of  a 
great  plantation,  and  fine  carriages  and  horses,  and  a 
house  with  his  wife  and  the  boy. 

This  was  all  that  was  known  of  him,  except  that 
once  a  stranger,  passing  through  the  country,  and 
hearing  the  name  Ole  'Stracted,  said  that  he  had  heard 
a  similar  one  once,  long  before  the  war,  in  one  of  the 
Louisiana  parishes,  where  the  man  roamed  at  will, 
having  been  bought  of  the  trader  by  the  gentleman 
who  owned  him,  for  a  small  price,  on  account  of  his 
infirmity. 


Ole  'Stracted  187 

"  Is  you  gwine  in  dyah  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  as  they 
approached  the  hut. 

"  Hi !  yes ;  'tain'  nuttin'  gwine  hu't  you.  An'  you 
say  Ephum  say  he  layin'  in  de  baid  ?  "  His  mind  had 
evidently  been  busy  on  the  subject. 

"An'  mighty  comical,"  she  corrected,  with  exactness 
born  of  apprehension. 

"  Well  ?     I  'feared  he  sick." 

"  I  ain'  nuver  been  in  dyah,"  she  persisted. 

"  Am'  de  chil'n  been  in  dyah  <?  " 

"  Dee  say  'stracted  folks  oon  hu't  chil'n." 

"  Dat  ole  man  oon  hu't  nobody ;  he  jes  tame  as  a 
ole  cat." 

"  I  wonder  he  ain'  feared  to  live  in  dat  lonesome 
ole  house  by  hisself.  I  jes  lieve  stay  in  a  graveyard 
at  once.  I  ain'  wonder  folks  say  he  sees  sperrits  in 
dat  hanty-lookin'  place."  She  came  up  by  her  hus- 
band's side  at  the  suggestion.  "  I  wonder  he  don'  go 
home*?" 

"  Whar  he  got  any  home  to  go  to — sep  heaven?  " 

"  What  was  you  mammy  name,  Ephum  ?  " 

"  Mymy,"  said  he,  simply. 

They  were  at  the  cabin  now,  and  a  brief  pause  of 
doubt  ensued.  It  was  perfectly  dark  inside  the  door, 
and  there  was  not  a  sound.  The  bench  where  they 


i88  Ok  'Stracted 


had  heretofore  held  their  only  communication  with 
their  strange  neighbor  was  lying  on  its  side  in  the 
weeds  which  grew  up  to  the  very  walls  of  the  ruinous 
cabin,  and  a  lizard  suddenly  ran  over  it,  and  with  a 
little  rustle  disappeared  under  the  rotting  ground-sill. 
To  the  woman  it  was  an  ill  omen.  She  glanced  fur- 
tively behind  her,  and  moved  nearer  her  husband's  side. 
She  noticed  that  the  cloud  above  the  pines  was  getting 
a  faint  yellow  tinge  on  its  lower  border,  whilst  it  was 
very  black  above  them.  It  filled  her  with  dread,  and 
she  was  about  to  call  her  husband's  notice  to  it,  when 
a  voice  within  arrested  their  attention.  It  was  very 
low,  and  they  both  listened  in  awed  silence,  watching 
the  door  meanwhile  as  if  they  expected  to  see  some- 
thing supernatural  spring  from  it. 

"  Nem  mine — -jes  wait — 'tain'  so  long  now — he'll  be 
heah  torectly,"  said  the  voice.  "  Dat's  what  he  say — 
gwine  come  an'  buy  me  back — den  we  gwine  home." 

In  their  endeavor  to  catch  the  words  they  moved 
nearer,  and  made  a  slight  noise.  Suddenly  the  low, 
earnest  tone  changed  to  one  full  of  eagerness. 

"Who  dat*?"  was  called  in  sharp  inquiry. 

"  'Tain'  nobody  but  me  an'  Polly,  Ole  'Stracted,"  said 
Ephraim,  pushing  the  door  slightly  wider  open  and 
stepping  in.  They  had  an  indistinct  idea  that  the 


Ole  'Stracted  189 

poor  deluded  creature  had  fancied  them  his  longed-for 
loved  ones,  yet  it  was  a  relief  to  see  him  bodily. 

"Who  you  say  you  is?"  inquired  the  old  man, 
feebly,  through  the  dusk. 

"  Me  an'  Polly." 

"I  done  bring  you  shut  home,"  said  the  woman, 
supplementing  her  husband's  reply.  "Hit  all  bran' 
clean,  an'  I  done  patch  it." 

"  Oh,  I  thought —  *?  "  said  the  voice,  sadly. 

They  knew  what  he  thought.  Their  eyes  were  now 
accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  they  saw  that  the  only 
article  of  furniture  which  the  room  contained  was  the 
wretched  bed  or  bench  on  which  the  old  man  was 
stretched.  The  light  sifting  through  the  chinks  in  the 
roof  enabled  them  to  see  his  face,  and  that  it  had 
changed  much  in  the  last  twenty-  four  hours,  and  an 
instinct  told  them  that  he  was  near  the  end  of  his  long 
waiting. 

"  How  is  you,  Ole  'Stracted  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Dat  ain'  my  name,"  answered  the  old  man,  promptly. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  disowned  the  name. 

"  Well,  how  is  you,  Ole —  *?  What  I  gwine  to  call 
you  ? "  asked  she,  with  feeble  finesse. 

"  I  don'  know — he  kin  tell  you." 

"Who?" 


190  Ole  'Stracted 

"Who?  Marster.  He  know  it.  Ole  'Stracted 
ain'  know  it;  but  dat  ain'  nuttin.  He  know  it — got 
it  set  down  in  de  book.  I  jes  waitin'  for  'em  now." 

A  hush  fell  on  the  little  audience — they  were  in  full 
sympathy  with  him,  and  knowing  no  way  of  express- 
ing it,  kept  silence.  Only  the  breathing  of  the  old 
man  was  audible  in  the  room.  He  was  evidently 
nearing  the  end. 

"  I  mighty  tired  of  waitin',"  he  said,  pathetically. 
"  Look  out  dyah  and  see  ef  you  see  anybody,"  he 
added,  suddenly. 

Both  of  them  obeyed,  and  then  returned  and  stood 
silent ;  they  could  not  tell  him  no. 

Presently  the  woman  said,  "  Don'  you  warn  put  you' 
shut  on  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  my  name  was  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Ole  'Str — "  She  paused  at  the  look  of  pain  on 
his  face,  shifted  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
and  relapsed  into  embarrassed  silence. 

"  Nem  mine  !  dee'll  know  it — Dee'll  know  me  'dout 
any  name,  oon  dee  ?  "  He  appealed  wistfully  to  them 
both. 

The  woman  for  answer  unfolded  the  shirt.  He 
moved  feebly,  as  if  in  assent. 

"  I  so  tired  waitin',"  he  whispered.    "  Done  'mos'  gin 


Ole  'Str acted  191 

out,  an'  he  oon  come.  But  I  thought  I  heah  little  Eph 
to-day  ?  "  There  was  a  faint  inquiry  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  he  wuz  heah.'* 

"  Wuz  he  ?  "  The  languid  form  became  instantly 
alert,  the  tired  face  took  on  a  look  of  eager  expect- 
ancy. "  Heah,  gi'  meh  shut  quick.  I  knowed  it. 
Wait.  Go  over  dyah,  son,  and  git  me  dat  money. 
He'll  be  heah  torectly." 

They  thought  his  mind  wandered,  and  merely 
followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes  with  theirs. 

"  Go  over  dyah  quick — don't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

And  to  humor  him  Ephraim  went  over  to  the  cor- 
ner indicated. 

"  Retch  up  dyah,  an'  run  you'  hand  in  onder  de 
second  jice.  It's  all  in  dyah,"  he  said  to  the  woman 
— "twelve  hunderd  dollars — dat's  what  dee  went  for. 
I  wucked  night  an'  day  forty  year  to  save  dat  money 
for  marster ;  you  know  dee  teck  all  he  land  an'  all  he 
niggers  an'  tu'n  him  out  in  de  old  fiel'  ?  I  put  'tin 
dyah  'ginst  he  come.  You  ain'  know  he  comin'  dis 
evenin',  is  you?  Heah,  help  me  on  wid  dat  shut, 
gal — I  stan'in'  heah  talkin'  an'  maybe  ole  marster 
waitin'.  Push  de  do'  open  so  you  kin  see.  Forty 
year  ago,"  he  murmured,  as  Polly  jambed  the  door 
back  and  returned  to  his  side — "forty  year  ago  dee 


192  Ole  'Sir acted 

come  an'  levelled  on  me:  marster  sutny  did  cry. 
*  Nem  mine,'  he  said,  4 1  comin'  right  down  in  de 
summer  to  buy  you  back  an'  bring  you  home.'  He's 
comin',  too — nuver  tol'  me  a  lie  in  he  life — comin'  dis 
evenin'.  Make  'aste."  This  in  tremulous  eagerness 
to  the  woman,  who  had  involuntarily  caught  the  feel- 
ing, and  was  now  with  eager  and  ineffectual  haste  try- 
ing to  button  his  shirt. 

An  exclamation  from  her  husband  caused  her  to 
turn  around,  as  he  stepped  into  the  light  and  held  up 
an  old  sock  filled  with  something. 

"  Heah,  hoi'  you'  apron,"  said  the  old  man  to  Polly, 
who  gathered  up  the  lower  corners  of  her  apron  and 
stood  nearer  the  bed. 

"  Po'  it  in  dyah."  This  to  Ephraim,  who  mechani- 
cally obeyed.  He  pulled  off  the  string,  and  poured 
into  his  wife's  lap  the  heap  of  glittering  coin  — 
gold  and  silver :  more  than  their  eyes  had  ever  seen 
before. 

"  Hit's  all  dyah,"  said  the  old  man,  confidentially, 
as  if  he  were  rendering  an  account.  "  I  been  savin'  it 
ever  sence  dee  took  me  'way.  I  so  busy  savin'  it  I 
ain'  had  time  to  eat.  But  I  ain'  hongry  now ;  have 
plenty  when  I  git  home."  He  sank  back  exhausted. 
,:  "  Oon  marster  be  glad  to  see  me  ? "  he  asked, 


"Nem  mi»,"  he  said,  '»/  comin"1  right  down  in  de  summer 
to  buy  you  back" 


Ole  'Stracted  193 

presently,  in  pathetic  simplicity.  "  You  know  we 
growed  up  togerr*?  I  been  waitin'  so  long  I  'feared 
dee  'mos'  done  forgit  me.  You  reckon  dee  is  ? "  he 
asked  the  woman  appealingly. 

"  No,  suh,  dee  ain'  forgit  you,"  she  said,  comfort- 
ingly. 

"  I  know  dee  ain',"  he  said,  reassured.  "  Dat's  what 
he  tell  me — he  ain'  nuver  gwine  forgit  me."  The  re- 
action had  set  in,  and  his  voice  was  so  feeble  now  it 
was  scarcely  audible.  He  was  talking  rather  to  him- 
self than  to  them,  and  finally  he  sank  into  a  doze.  A 
painful  silence  reigned  in  the  little  hut,  in  which  the 
only  sign  was  the  breathing  of  the  dying  man.  A  sin- 
gle shaft  of  light  stole  down  under  the  edge  of  the 
slowly  passing  cloud  and  slipped  in  at  the  door.  Sud- 
denly the  sleeper  waked  with  a  start,  and  gazed 
around. 

"Hit  gittin'  mighty  dark,"  he  whispered,  faintly. 
"  You  reckon  dee'll  git  heah  'fo'  dark  ?  " 

The  light  was  dying  from  his  eyes. 

"  Ephum,"  said  the  woman,  softly,  to  her  husband. 

The  effect  was  electrical. 

"  Heish !  you  heah  dat ! "  exclaimed  the  dying 
man,  eagerly. 

"  Ephum — "  she  repeated. 


194  Ole  'Stracted 

The  rest  was  drowned  by  Ole  'Stracted's  joyous 
exclamation. 

"  Gord  !  I  knowed  it ! "  he  cried,  suddenly  rising 
upright,  and,  with  beaming  face,  stretching  both  arms 
toward  the  door.  "  Dyah  dee  come !  Now  watch 
'em  smile.  All  y'all  jes  stand  back.  Heah  de  one 
you  lookin'  for.  Marster  —  Mymy  —  heah's  Little 
Ephum ! "  And  with  a  smile  on  his  face  he  sank  back 
into  his  son's  arms. 

The  evening  sun,  dropping  on  the  instant  to  his 
setting,  flooded  the  room  with  light ;  but  as  Ephraim 
gently  eased  him  down  and  drew  his  arm  from  around 
him,  it  was  the  light  of  the  unending  morning  that  was 
on  his  face.  His  Master  had  at  last  come  for  him,  and 
after  his  long  waiting,  Ole  'Stracted  had  indeed  gone 
home. 


"NO   RAID   PAWN 


"NO  HMD  PAWN"* 

IT  was  a  ghostly  place  in  broad  daylight,  if  the 
glimmer  that  stole  in  through  the  dense  forest 
that  surrounded   it  even  when  the  sun  was  di- 
rectly overhead  deserved  this  delusive  name.     At  any 
other  time  it  was — why,  we  were  afraid  even  to  talk 
about  it !     And  as  to  venturing  within   its   gloomy 
borders  ?  it  was  currently  believed  among  us  that  to 
do  so  would  be  to  bring  upon  the  intruder  certain 
death. 

I  knew  every  foot  of  ground,  wet  and  dry,  within 
five  miles  of  my  father's  place,  except  this  plantation ; 
for  I  had  hunted  by  day  and  night  every  field,  forest, 
and  marsh  within  that  radius ;  but  the  swamp  and  the 
"  ma'shes  "  that  surrounded  this  place  I  had  never  in- 
vaded. The  boldest  hunter  on  the  plantation  would 
call  off  his  dogs  and  go  home  if  they  struck  a  trail 
that  crossed  the  sobby  boundary-line  of  "No  Haid 
Pawn." 

*  No-head-pond. 


i98  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 

Only  **  Jack-'my-lanterns  "  and  "  evil  sperits "  in- 
fested those  woods,  and  the  earnest  advice  of  those 
whom  we  children  acknowledged  to  know  most  about 
them  was,  "  Don't  you  never  go  nigh  dyah,  honey ; 
hit's  de  evil-speritest  place  in  dis  wull." 

Had  not  Big  William  and  Cephas  and  Poliam  fol- 
lowed their  dogs  in  there  one  night,  and  cut  down  a 
tree  in  which  they  had  with  their  own  eyes  seen  the 
coon,  and  lo !  when  it  fell  "  de  warn  no  mo'  coon 
dyah  'n  a  dog ! "  and  the  next  tree  they  had  "  treed 
in  "  not  only  had  no  coon  in  it,  but  when  it  was  cut 
down  it  had  fallen  on  Poliam  and  broken  his  leg.  So 
the  very  woods  were  haunted.  From  this  time  they 
were  abandoned  to  the  "Jack-'my-lanterns"  and 
ghosts,  and  another  shadow  was  added  to  No  Haid 
Pawn. 

The  place  was  as  much  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the 
country  as  if  a  sea  had  divided  it.  The  river,  with 
marshy  banks,  swept  around  it  in  a  wide  horseshoe  on 
three  sides,  and  when  the  hummocks  dammed  it  up 
it  washed  its  way  straight  across  and  scoured  out  a 
new  bed  for  itselfj  completely  isolating  the  whole 
plantation. 

The  owners  of  it,  if  there  were  any,  which  was 
doubtful,  were  aliens,  and  in  my  time  it  had  not  been 


"  No  Haid  Pawn  "  199 

occupied  for  forty  years.  The  negroes  declared  that 
it  was  "  gin  up  "  to  the  "  ha'nts  an'  evil  sperits,"  and 
that  no  living  being  could  live  there.  It  had  grown 
up  in  forest  and  had  wholly  reverted  to  original  marsh. 
The  road  that  once  ran  through  the  swamp  had  long 
since  been  choked  up,  and  the  trees  were  as  thick  and 
the  jungle  as  dense  now,  in  its  track,  as  in  the  adjacent 
"  ma'sh."  Only  one  path  remained.  This,  it  was  cur- 
rently believed  by  the  entire  portion  of  the  population 
who  speculated  on  the  subject,  was  kept  open  by  the 
evil  spirits.  Certain  it  was  that  no  human  foot  ever 
trod  the  narrow,  tortuous  line  that  ran  through  the 
brakes  as  deviously  as  the  noiseless,  stagnant  ditches 
which  curved  through  the  jungle,  where  the  musk-rats 
played  and  the  moccasin  slept  unmolested.  Yet  there 
it  lay,  plain  and  well-defined,  month  after  month 
and  year  after  year,  as  No  Haid  Pawn  itself  stood, 
amid  its  surrounding  swamps,  all  undisturbed  and 
unchanging. 

Even  the  runaway  slaves  who  occasionally  left  their 
homes  and  took  to  the  swamps  and  woods,  impelled 
by  the  cruelty  of  their  overseers,  or  by  a  desire  for  a 
vain  counterfeit  of  freedom,  never  tried  this  swamp, 
but  preferred  to  be  caught  and  returned  home  to 
invading  its  awful  shades. 


200  "  No  Haid  Pawn 


We  were  brought  up  to  believe  in  ghosts.  Our 
fathers  and  mothers  laughed  at  us,  and  endeavored  to 
reason  us  out  of  such  a  superstition — the  fathers  with 
much  of  ridicule  and  satire,  the  mothers  giving  sweet 
religious  reasons  for  their  argument ; — but  what  could 
they  avail  against  the  actual  testimony  and  the  blood- 
curdling experiences  of  a  score  of  witnesses,  who  re- 
counted their  personal  observations  with  a  realism  and 
a  vividness  that  overbore  any  arguments  our  childish 
reason  could  grasp  !  The  old  mammies  and  "  uncles  " 
who  were  our  companions  and  comrades  believed  in 
the  existence  of  evil  spirits  as  truly  as  in  the  existence 
of  hell  or  heaven,  as  to  which  at  that  time  no  question 
had  ever  been  raised,  so  far  as  was  known  in  that  slum- 
berous world.  (  The  Bible  was  the  standard,  and  all 
disputes  were  resolved  into  an  appeal  to  that  author- 
ity ;  the  single  question  as  to  any  point  being  simply, 
"  Is  it  in  the  Bible  *?  "  )  Had  not  Lazarus,  and  Mam' 
Celia,  and  William,  and  Twis'-foot-Bob,  and  Aunt 
Sukie  Brown,  and  others  seen  with  their  own  eyes  the 
evil  spirits,  again  and  again,  in  the  bodily  shape  of 
cats,  headless  dogs,  white  cows,  and  other  less  palpable 
forms !  And  was  not  their  experience,  who  lived  in 
remote  cabins,  or  wandered  night  after  night  through 
the  loneliest  woods,  stronger  evidence  than  the  cold 


No  Haid  Pawn  "  201 


reasoning  of  those  who  hardly  ever  stirred  abroad  ex- 
cept in  daylight  ?  It  certainly  was  more  conclusive 
to  us ;  for  no  one  could  have  listened  to  those  nar- 
rators without  being  impressed  with  the  fact  that  they 
were  recounting  what  they  had  actually  seen  with 
their  bodily  eyes.  The  result  of  it  all  was,  so  far  as 
we  were  concerned,  the  triumph  of  faith  over  reason, 
and  the  fixed  belief,  on  our  part,  in  the  actual  visible 
existence  of  the  departed,  in  the  sinister  forms  of  ap- 
parition known  as  "evil  sperits."  Every  graveyard 
was  tenanted  by  them;  every  old  house  and  every 
peculiarly  desolate  spot  were  known  to  be  their  ren- 
dezvous. But  all  spots  and  places  sank  into  insignifi- 
cance compared  with  No  Haid  Pawn. 

The  very  name  was  uncanny.  Originally  it  had 
designated  a  long,  stagnant  pool  of  water  lying  in  the 
centre  of  the  tract,  which  marked  the  spot  from  which 
the  soil  had  been  dug  to  raise  the  elevation  on  which 
to  set  the  house.  More  modernly  the  place,  by  reason 
of  the  filling  up  of  ditches  and  the  sinking  of  dikes, 
had  become  again  simple  swamp  and  jungle,  or,  to 
use  the  local  expression,  "  had  turned  to  ma'sh,"  and 
the  name  applied  to  the  whole  plantation. 

The  origin  of  the  name  ?  The"  pond  had  no  source 
or  head.  But  we  children  knew  that  there  was  a  better 


202  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 


explanation  than  that.     Anyhow,  the  very  name  in- 
spired dread,  and  the  place  was  our  terror. 

The  house  had  been  built  generations  before  by  one 
who  was  a  stranger  in  this  section,  and  the  owners  had 
never  made  it  their  permanent  home.  Thus,  no  ties 
either  of  blood  or  friendship  were  formed  with  their 
neighbors,  who  were  certainly  open-hearted  and  open- 
doored  enough  to  overcome  anything  but  the  most 
persistent  unneighborliness. 

Why  this  spot  was  selected  for  a  mansion  was 
always  a  mystery,  unless  it  was  that  the  newcomer 
desired  to  isolate  himself  completely.  Instead  of  fol- 
lowing the  custom  of  those  who  were  native  and  to 
the  manner  born,  who  always  chose  some  eminence 
for  their  seats,  he  had  selected  for  his  a  spot  in  the 
middle  of  the  wide  flat  which  lay  in  the  horseshoe  of 
the  river.  The  low  ground,  probably  owing  to  the 
abundance  of  land  in  that  country,  had  never  been 
"  taken  up,"  and  until  the  time  of  his  occupation  was 
in  a  condition  of  primeval  swamp.  He  had  to  begin 
by  making  an  artificial  mound  for  his  mansion.  Even 
then,  it  was  said,  he  dug  so  deep  that  he  laid  the 
cornerstone  in  water.  The  foundation  was  of  stone, 
which  was  brought  from  a  distance.  Fabulous  stories 
were  told  of  it.  The  negroes  declared  that  under  the 


No  Haid  Pawn  "  203 


old  house  were  solid  rock  chambers,  which  had  been 
built  for  dungeons,  and  had  served  for  purposes  which 
were  none  the  less  awful  because  they  were  vague  and 
indefinite.  The  huge  structure  itself  was  of  wood, 
and  was  alleged  to  contain  many  mysterious  rooms 
and  underground  passages.  One  of  the  latter  was  said 
to  connect  with  the  No  Haid  Pawn  itself,  the  dark 
waters  of  which,  according  to  the  negroes'  tradition, 
were  some  day,  by  some  process  not  wholly  consistent 
with  the  laws  of  physics,  to  overwhelm  the  fated  pile. 
An  evil  destiny  had  seemed  to  overshadow  the 
place  from  the  very  beginning.  One  of  the  negro 
builders  had  been  accidentally  caught  and  decapitated 
between  two  of  the  immense  foundation  stones.  The 
tradition  was  handed  down  that  he  was  sacrificed  in 
some  awful  and  occult  rite  connected  with  the  laying 
of  the  corner-stone.  Later  on  the  scaffolding  had 
given  way  and  had  precipitated  several  men  to  the 
ground,  most  of  whom  had  been  fatally  hurt.  This 
also  was  alleged  among  the  slaves  in  the  neighbor- 
hood to  have  been  by  hideous  design.  Then  the 
plantation,  in  the  process  of  being  reclaimed,  had 
proved  unhealthy  beyond  all  experience,  and  the 
negroes  employed  in  the  work  of  dyking  and  reclaim- 
ing the  great  swamp  had  sickened  and  died  by  dozens. 


204  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 

The  extension  of  the  dangerous  fever  to  the  adjoining 
plantations  had  left  a  reputation  for  typhus  malaria 
from  which  the  whole  section  suffered  for  a  time. 
But  this  did  not  prevent  the  colored  population  from 
recounting  year  after  year  the  horrors  of  the  pestilence 
of  No  Haid  Pawn  as  a  peculiar  visitation,  nor  from 
relating  with  blood-curdling  details  the  burial  by 
scores,  in  a  thicket  just  beside  the  pond,  of  the  stricken 
"  befo'  dee  daid,  honey,  befo'  dee  daid  I  "  The  bodies, 
it  was  affirmed,  used  to  float  about  in  the  guts  of  the 
swamp  and  on  the  haunted  pond;  and  at  night  they 
might  be  seen,  if  any  one  were  so  hardy  as  to  venture 
there,  rowing  about  in  their  coffins  as  if  they  were 
boats. 

Thus  No  Haid  Pawn  from  the  beginning  had  an 
evil  name,  and  when,  year  after  year,  the  river  rose 
and  washed  the  levees  away,  or  the  muskrats  burrowed 
through  and  let  the  water  in,  and  the  strange  masters 
cursed  not  only  the  elements  but  Heaven  itself,  the 
continued  mortality  of  their  negroes  was  not  wholly 
unexpected  nor  unaccounted  for  by  certain  classes  of 
their  neighbors. 

At  length  the  property  had  fallen  to  one  more 
gloomy,  more  strange,  and  more  sinister  than  any 
who  had  gone  before  him — a  man  whose  personal 


"  No  Haid  Pawn  "  205 

characteristics  and  habits  were  unique  in  that  coun- 
try. He  was  of  gigantic  stature  and  superhuman 
strength,  and  possessed  appetites  and  vices  in  propor- 
tion to  his  bulk.  He  could  fell  an  ox  with  a  blow  of 
his  fist,  or  in  a  fit  of  anger  could  tear  down  the  branch 
of  a  tree,  or  bend  a  bar  of  iron  like  a  reed.  He,  either 
from  caprice  or  ignorance,  spoke  only  a  patois  not  un- 
like the  Creole  French  of  the  Louisiana  parishes.  But 
he  was  a  West  Indian.  His  brutal  temper  and  hab- 
its cut  him  off  from  even  the  small  measure  of  inter- 
course which  had  existed  between  his  predecessors  and 
their  neighbors,  and  he  lived  at  No  Haid  Pawn  com- 
pletely isolated.  All  the  stories  and  traditions  of  the 
place  at  once  centred  on  him,  and  fabulous  and  awful 
tales  were  told  of  his  prowess  and  of  his  life.  It  was 
said,  among  other  things,  that  he  preserved  his  won- 
derful strength  by  drinking  human  blood,  a  tale  which 
in  a  certain  sense  I  have  never  seen  reason  to  question. 
Making  all  allowances,  his  life  was  a  blot  upon  civili- 
zation. At  length  it  culminated.  A  brutal  temper, 
inflamed  by  unbridled  passions,  after  a  long  period  of 
license  and  debauchery  came  to  a  climax  in  a  final 
orgy  of  ferocity  and  fury,  in  which  he  was  guilty  of 
an  act  the  fiendishness  of  which  surpassed  belief,  and 
he  was  brought  to  judgment. 


206  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 


In  modern  times  the  very  inhumanity  of  the  crime 
would  probably  have  proved  his  security,  and  as  he 
had  destroyed  his  own  property  whilst  he  was  perpe- 
trating a  crime  of  appalling  and  unparalleled  horror, 
he  might  have  found  a  defence  in  that  standing  refuge 
of  extraordinary  scoundrelism  —  insanity.  This  de- 
fence, indeed,  was  put  in,  and  was  pressed  with  much 
ability  by  his  counsel,  one  of  whom  was  my  father, 
who  had  just  then  been  admitted  to  the  bar ;  but,  fort- 
unately for  the  cause  of  justice,  neither  courts  nor 
juries  were  then  so  sentimental  as  they  have  become 
of  late  years,  and  the  last  occupant  of  No  Haid  Pawn 
paid  under  the  law  the  full  penalty  of  his  hideous 
crime.  It  was  one  of  the  curious  incidents  of  the  trial 
that  his  negroes  all  lamented  his  death,  and  declared 
that  he  was  a  good  master  when  he  was  not  drunk. 
He  was  hanged  just  at  the  rear  of  his  own  house, 
within  sight  of  the  spot  where  his  awful  crime  was 
committed. 

At  his  execution,  which,  according  to  the  custom  of 
the  country,  was  public,  a  horrible  coincidence  oc- 
curred which  furnished,  among  the  negroes,  the  text 
of  many  a  sermon  on  retributive  justice. 

The  body  was  interred  near  the  pond,  close  by  the 
thicket  where  the  slaves  were  buried ;  but  the  negroes 


•-       fl      .  >:         ^m.^ 

*££?     Jl     ;  ^1^1 


The  gigantic  monster  dragged  the  hacked  and  headless  corfise 
of  his  victim  up  the  staircase. 


"  No  Haid  Pawn  "  207 


declared  that  it  preferred  one  of  the  stone  chambers 
under  the  mansion,  where  it  made  its  home,  and  that 
it  might  be  seen  at  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  stalk- 
ing headless  about  the  place.  They  used  to  dwell 
with  peculiar  zest  on  the  most  agonizing  details  of 
this  wretch's  dreadful  crime,  the  whole  culminating 
in  the  final  act  of  maniacal  fury,  when  the  gigantic 
monster  dragged  the  hacked  and  headless  corpse 
of  his  victim  up  the  staircase  and  stood  it  up  before 
the  open  window  in  his  hall,  in  the  full  view  of 
the  terrified  slaves.  After  these  narrations,  the  con- 
tinued reappearance  of  the  murderer  and  his  headless 
victim  was  as  natural  to  us  as  it  was  to  the  negroes 
themselves ;  and,  as  night  after  night  we  would  hurry 
up  to  the  great  house  through  the  darkness,  we  were 
ever  on  the  watch  lest  he  should  appear  to  our  frighted 
vision  from  the  shades  of  the  shrubbery-filled  yard. 

Thus  it  was  that  of  all  ghostly  places  No  Haid 
Pawn  had  the  distinction  of  being  invested,  to  us, 
with  unparalleled  horror;  and  thus  to  us,  no  less  than 
because  the  dykes  had  given  way  and  the  overflowed 
flats  had  turned  again  to  swamp  and  jungle,  it  was 
explicable  that  No  Haid  Pawn  was  abandoned,  and 
was  now  untrodden  by  any  foot  but  that  of  its  ghostly 
tenants. 


208  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 


The  time  of  my  story  was  185-.  The  spring  previ- 
ous continuous  rains  had  kept  the  river  full,  and  had 
flooded  the  low  grounds,  and  this  had  been  followed 
by  an  exceptionally  dense  growth  in  the  following 
summer.  Then,  public  feeling  was  greatly  excited  at 
the  time  of  which  I  write,  over  the  discovery  in  the 
neighborhood  of  several  emissaries  of  the  underground 
railway,  or — as  they  were  universally  considered  in  that 
country — of  the  devil.  They  had  been  run  off  or  had 
disappeared  suddenly,  but  had  left  behind  them  some 
little  excitement  on  the  part  of  the  slaves,  and  a  great 
deal  on  the  part  of  the  masters,  and  more  than  the 
usual  number  of  negroes  had  run  away.  All,  however, 
had  been  caught,  or  had  returned  home  after  a  suffi- 
cient interval  of  freedom,  except  one  who  had  escaped 
permanently,  and  who  was  supposed  to  have  accom- 
panied his  instigators  on  their  flight. 

This  man  was  a  well-known  character.  He  be- 
longed to  one  of  our  neighbors,  and  had  been  bought 
and  brought  there  from  an  estate  on  the  Lower  Mis- 
sissippi. He  was  the  most  brutal  negro  I  ever  knew. 
He  was  of  a  type  rarely  found  among  our  negroes,  who, 
judging  from  their  physiognomy  and  general  character- 
istics, came  principally  from  the  east  coast  of  Africa. 
They  are  of  moderate  stature,  with  dull  but  amiable 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  209 

faces.  This  man,  however,  was  of  immense  size,  and 
he  possessed  the  features  and  expression  of  a  Congo 
desperado.  In  character  also  he  differed  essentially 
from  all  the  other  slaves  in  our  country.  He  was  alike 
without  their  amiability  and  their  docility,  and  was  as 
fearless  as  he  was  brutal.  He  was  the  only  negro  I 
ever  knew  who  was  without  either  superstition  or  rever- 
ence. Indeed,  he  differed  so  widely  from  the  rest  of 
the  slaves  in  that  section  that  there  existed  some  feel- 
ing against  him  almost  akin  to  a  race  feeling.  At  the 
same  time,  however,  that  he  exercised  considerable  in- 
fluence over  them  they  were  dreadfully  afraid  of  him, 
and  were  always  in  terror  that  he  would  trick  them, 
to  which  awful  power  he  laid  well-known  claim.  His 
curses  in  his  strange  dialect  used  to  terrify  them  be- 
yond measure,  and  they  would  do  anything  to  con- 
ciliate him.  He  had  been  a  continual  source  of  trou- 
ble and  an  object  of  suspicion  in  the  neighborhood 
from  the  time  of  his  first  appearance ;  and  more  than 
one  hog  that  the  negroes  declared  had  wandered  into 
the  marshes  of  No  Haid  Pawn,  and  had  "cut  his 
thote  jes'  swimin'  aroun'  an'  aroun'  in  de  ma'sh,"  had 
been  suspected  of  finding  its  way  to  this  man's 
cabin.  His  master  had  often  been  urged  to  get  rid 
of  him,  but  he  was  kept,  I  think,  probably  because 


210  "No  Haid  Pawn 


he  was  valuable  on  the  plantation.  He  was  a  fine 
butcher,  a  good  work-hand,  and  a  first-class  boatman. 
Moreover,  ours  was  a  conservative  population,  in 
which  every  man  minded  his  own  business  and  let  his 
neighbor's  alone. 

At  the  time  of  the  visits  of  those  secret  agents  to 
which  I  have  referred,  this  negro  was  discovered  to  be 
the  leader  in  the  secret  meetings  held  under  their  aus- 
pices, and  he  would  doubtless  have  been  taken  up  and 
shipped  off  at  once ;  but  when  the  intruders  fled,  as  I 
have  related,  their  convert  disappeared  also.  It  was  a 
subject  of  general  felicitation  in  the  neighborhood  that 
he  was  got  rid  of,  and  his  master,  instead  of  being 
commiserated  on  the  loss  of  his  slave,  was  congratu- 
lated that  he  had  not  cut  his  throat. 

No  idea  can  be  given  at  this  date  of  the  excitement 
occasioned  in  a  quiet  neighborhood  in  old  times  by 
the  discovery  of  the  mere  presence  of  such  characters 
as  Abolitionists.  It  was  as  if  the  foundations  of  the 
whole  social  fabric  were  undermined.  It  was  the  sud- 
den darkening  of  a  shadow  that  always  hung  in  the 
horizon.  The  slaves  were  in  a  large  majority,  and  had 
they  risen,  though  the  final  issue  could  not  be  doubted, 
the  lives  of  every  white  on  the  plantations  must  have 
paid  the  forfeit.  Whatever  the  right  and  wrong  of 


No  Haid  Pawn"  211 


slavery  might  have  been,  its  existence  demanded  that 
no  outside  interference  with  it  should  be  tolerated.  So 
much  was  certain  :  self-preservation  required  this. 

I  was,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  a  well-grown 
lad,  and  had  been  for  two  sessions  to  a  boarding- 
school,  where  I  had  got  rid  of  some  portion — I  will 
not  say  of  all  —  of  the  superstition  of  my  boyhood. 
The  spirit  of  adventure  was  beginning  to  assert  itself 
in  me,  and  I  had  begun  to  feel  a  sense  of  enjoyment 
in  overcoming  the  fears  which  had  once  mastered  me, 
though,  I  must  confess,  I  had  not  entirely  shaken  off 
my  belief  in  the  existence  of  ghosts — I  did  not  believe 
in  them  at  all  in  the  day-time,  but  when  night  came  I 
was  not  so  certain  about  it. 

Duck -hunting  was  my  favorite  sport,  and  the 
marshes  on  the  river  were  fine  ground  for  them 
usually,  but  this  season  the  weather  had  been  so  singu- 
larly warm  that  the  sport  had  been  poor,  and  though 
I  had  scoured  every  canal  in  the  marsh  and  every 
bend  in  the  river  as  far  as  "No  Haid  Pawn  Hum- 
mock," as  the  stretch  of  drifted  timber  and  treacherous 
marsh  was  called  that  marked  the  boundary-line  of 
that  plantation,  I  had  had  bad  luck.  Beyond  that 
point  I  had  never  penetrated,  partly,  no  doubt,  be- 
cause of  the  training  of  my  earlier  years,  and  partly 


212  "  No  Haid  Pawn 


because  the  marsh  on  either  side  of  the  hummock 
would  have  mired  a  cat.  Often,  as  I  watched  with 
envious  eyes  the  wild  duck  rise  up  over  the  dense 
woods  that  surrounded  the  place  and  cut  straight  for 
the  deserted  marshes  in  the  horseshoe,  I  had  had  a 
longing  to  invade  the  mysterious  domain,  and  crawl 
to  the  edge  of  No  Haid  Pawn  and  get  a  shot  at  the 
game  that  floated  on  its  black  surface.  But  some- 
thing had  always  deterred  me,  and  the  long  reaches  of 
No  Haid  Pawn  were  left  to  the  wild-fowl  and  the 
ghostly  rowers.  Finally,  however,  after  a  spell  whose 
high  temperature  was  rather  suited  to  August  than 
April,  in  desperation  at  my  ill-luck  I  determined  to 
gratify  my  curiosity  and  try  No  Haid  Pawn.  So  one 
afternoon,  without  telling  any  one  of  my  intention,  I 
crossed  the  mysterious  boundary  and  struck  through 
the  swamp  for  the  unknown  land. 

The  marsh  was  far  worse  than  I  had  anticipated,  and 
no  one  but  a  duck-hunter  as  experienced  and  zealous 
as  myself,  and  as  indifferent  to  ditches,  briers,  mire, 
and  all  that  makes  a  swamp,  could  have  penetrated  it 
at  all.  Even  I  could  never  have  gotten  on  if  I  had 
not  followed  the  one  trail  that  led  into  the  marsh,  the 
reputed  "parf "  of  the  evil  spirits,  and,  as  it  was,  my 
progress  was  both  tedious  and  dangerous. 


No  Haid  Pawn"  213 


The  track  was  a  mysterious  one,  for  though  I  knew 
it  had  not  been  trodden  by  a  human  foot  in  many 
years,  yet  there,  a  veritable  "  parf,"  it  lay.  In  some 
places  it  was  almost  completely  lost,  and  I  would  fear 
I  should  have  to  turn  back,  but  an  overhanging  branch 
or  a  vine  swinging  from  one  tree  to  another  would  fur- 
nish a  way  to  some  spot  where  the  narrow  trail  began 
again.  In  other  spots  old  logs  thrown  across  the  miry 
canals  gave  me  an  uncomfortable  feeling  as  I  reflected 
what  feet  had  last  crossed  on  them.  On  both  sides  of 
this  shadowy  line  the  marsh  was  either  an  impene- 
trable jungle  or  a  quagmire  apparently  bottomless. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  as  I  finally 
emerged  from  the  woods  into  the  clearing,  if  that  deso- 
late waste  of  willows,  cane,  and  swamp  growth  could 
be  so  termed.  About  me  stretched  the  jungle,  over 
which  a  greenish  lurid  atmosphere  brooded,  and 
straight  ahead  towered  the  gaunt  mansion,  a  rambling 
pile  of  sombre  white,  with  numberless  vacant  windows 
staring  at  me  like  eyeless  sockets  from  the  leafless 
trees  about  it.  Only  one  other  clump  of  trees  appeared 
above  the  canes*  and  brush,  and  that  I  knew  by  intu- 
ition was  the  graveyard. 

I  think  I  should  have  turned  back  had  not  shame 
impelled  me  forward. 


214  "NoHMPawn" 


My  progress  from  this  point  was  even  more  difficult 
than  it  had  been  hitherto,  for  the  trail  at  the  end  of  the 
wood  terminated  abruptly  in  a  gut  of  the  swamp ; 
however,  I  managed  to  keep  on  by  walking  on  hum- 
mocks, pushing  through  clumps  of  bushes,  and  wading 
as  best  I  could.  It  was  slow  and  hot  work,  though. 

It  never  once  struck  me  that  it  must  be  getting  late. 
I  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  gloom  of  the 
woods  that  the  more  open  ground  appeared  quite 
light  to  me,  and  I  had  not  paid  any  attention  to  the 
black  cloud  that  had  been  for  some  time  gathering 
overhead,  or  to  the  darkening  atmosphere. 

I  suddenly  became  sensible  that  it  was  going  to 
rain.  However,  I  was  so  much  engrossed  in  the  en- 
deavor to  get  on  that  even  then  I  took  little  note  of  it. 
The  nearer  I  came  to  the  house  the  more  it  arrested 
my  attention,  and  the  more  weird  and  uncanny  it 
looked.  Canes  and  bushes  grew  up  to  the  very  door ; 
the  window  -  shutters  hung  from  the  hinges ;  the 
broken  windows  glared ;  the  portico  had  fallen  away 
from  the  wall,  while  the  wide  door  stood  slightly  ajar, 
giving  to  the  place  a  singularly  ghastly  appearance, 
somewhat  akin  to  the  color  which  sometimes  lingers 
on  the  face  of  a  corpse.  In  my  progress  wading 
through  the  swamp  I  had  gone  around  rather  to  the 


No  Haid  Pawn"  215 


side  of  the  house  toward  where  I  supposed  the  "  pawn  " 
itself  to  lie. 

I  was  now  quite  near  to  it,  and  striking  a  little  less 
miry  ground,  as  I  pushed  my  way  through  the  bushes 
and  canes,  which  were  higher  than  my  head,  I  became 
aware  that  I  was  very  near  the  thicket  that  marked  the 
graveyard,  just  beyond  which  I  knew  the  pond  itself 
lay.  I  was  somewhat  startled,  for  the  cloud  made  it 
quite  dusky,  and,  stepping  on  a  long  piece  of  rotten 
timber  lying  on  the  ground,  I  parted  the  bushes  to 
look  down  the  pond.  As  I  did  so  the  rattle  of  a  chain 
grated  on  me,  and,  glancing  up  through  the  cane, 
above  me  appeared  a  heavy  upright  timber  with  an 
arm  or  cross-beam  stretching  from  it,  from  which  dan- 
gled a  long  chain,  almost  rusted  away.  I  knew  by 
instinct  that  I  stood  under  the  gallows  where  the  mur- 
derer of  No  Haid  Pawn  had  expiated  his  dreadful 
crime.  His  corpse  must  have  fallen  just  where  I  stood. 
I  started  back  appalled. 

Just  then  the  black  cloud  above  me  was  parted  by 
a  vivid  flame,  and  a  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to  rive 
the  earth. 

I  turned  in  terror,  but  before  I  had  gone  fifty  yards 
the  storm  was  upon  me,  and  instinctively  I  made  for 
the  only  refuge  that  was  at  hand.  It  was  a  dreadful 


216  "No  Haid  Pawn" 


alternative,  but  I  did  not  hesitate.  Outside  I  was  not 
even  sure  that  my  life  was  safe.  And  with  extra- 
ordinary swiftness  I  had  made  my  way  through  the 
broken  iron  fence  that  lay  rusting  in  the  swamp,  had 
traversed  the  yard,  all  grown  up  as  it  was  to  the  very 
threshold,  had  ascended  the  sunken  steps,  crossed  the 
rotted  portico,  and  entered  the  open  door. 

A  long  dark  hall  stretched  before  me,  extending,  as 
well  as  I  could  judge  in  the  gloom,  entirely  across  the 
house.  A  number  of  doors,  some  shut,  some  ajar, 
opened  on  the  hall  on  one  side;  and  a  broad,  dark 
stairway  ascended  on  the  other  to  the  upper  story. 
The  walls  were  black  with  mould.  At  the  far  end  a 
large  bow-window,  with  all  the  glass  gone,  looked  out 
on  the  waste  of  swamp,  unbroken  save  by  the  clump 
of  trees  in  the  graveyard,  and  just  beside  this  window 
was  a  black  void  where  the  dark  staircase  descended 
to  the  caverns  below.  The  whole  place  was  in  a  state 
of  advanced  decay;  almost  the  entire  plastering  had 
fallen  with  the  damp,  and  the  hall  presented  a  scene 
of  desolation  that  beggars  description. 

The  rain,  driven  by  the  wind,  poured  in  at  the 
broken  windows  in  such  a  deluge  that  I  was  forced  in 
self-defence  to  seek  shelter  in  one  of  the  rooms.  I 
tried  several,  but  the  doors  were  swollen  or  fastened ; 


"  No  Maid  Pawn  "  217 

I  found  one,  however,  on  the  leeward  side  of  the 
house,  and,  pushing  the  door,  which  opened  easily,  I 
entered.  Inside  I  found  something  like  an  old  bed, 
and  the  great  open  fireplace  had  evidently  been  used 
at  some  earlier  time,  for  the  ashes  were  still  banked  up 
in  the  cavernous  hearth,  and  the  charred  ends  of  the 
logs  of  wood  were  yet  lying  in  the  chimney  corners. 
To  see,  still  as  fresh  and  natural  as  though  the  fire  had 
but  just  died  out,  these  remnants  of  domestic  life  that 
had  survived  all  else  of  a  similar  period  struck  me  as 
unspeakably  ghastly.  The  bedstead,  however,  though 
rude,  was  convenient  as  a  seat,  and  I  utilized  it  accord- 
ingly, propping  myself  up  against  one  of  the  rough 
posts.  From  my  position  I  commanded  through  the 
open  door  the  entire  length  of  the  vacant  hall,  and 
could  look  straight  out  of  the  great  bow-window  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  through  which  appeared,  against 
the  dull  sky,  the  black  mass  of  the  graveyard  trees, 
and  a  stretch  of  one  of  the  guts  of  the  swamp  curving 
around  it,  which  gleamed  white  in  the  glare  of  the 
lightning. 

I  had  expected  that  the  storm  would,  like  most 
thunder-storms  in  that  latitude,  shortly  exhaust  itself, 
or,  as  we  say,  "  blow  over  " ;  but  I  was  mistaken,  and 
as  the  time  passed,  its  violence,  instead  of  lessening, 


218  "No  Haid  Pawn" 


increased.  It  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  presently 
the  startling  truth  dawned  upon  me  that  the  gloom 
which  I  had  supposed  simply  the  effect  of  the  over- 
shadowing cloud  had  been  really  nightfall.  I  was 
shut  up  alone  in  No  Haid  Pawn  for  the  night ! 

I  hastened  to  the  door  with  the  intention  of  braving 
the  storm  and  getting  away ;  but  I  was  almost  blown 
off  my  feet.  A  glance  without  showed  me  that  the 
guts  with  which  the  swamp  was  traversed  in  every 
direction  were  now  full  to  the  brim,  and  to  attempt  to 
find  my  way  home  in  the  darkness  would  be  sheer 
madness ;  so,  after  a  wistful  survey,  I  returned  to  my 
wretched  perch.  I  thought  I  would  try  and  light 
a  fire,  but  to  my  consternation  I  had  not  a  match,  and 
I  finally  abandoned  myself  to  my  fate.  It  was  a 
desolate,  if  not  despairing,  feeling  that  I  experienced. 
My  mind  was  filled,  not  only  with  my  own  unhappi- 
ness,  but  with  the  thought  of  the  distress  my  absence 
would  occasion  them  at  home ;  and  for  a  little  while  I 
had  a  fleeting  hope  that  a  party  would  be  sent  out  to 
search  for  me.  This,  however,  was  untenable,  for 
they  would  not  know  where  I  was.  The  last  place  in 
which  they  would  ever  think  of  looking  for  me,  unless 
some  one  had  seen  me  as  I  came  that  way,  was  No 
Haid  Pawn,  and  even  if  they  knew  I  was  there  they 


"No  Haid  Pawn"  219 

could  no  more  get  to  me  in  the  darkness  and  storm 
than  I  could  escape  from  it. 

I  accordingly  propped  myself  up  on  my  bed  and 
gave  myself  up  to  my  reflections.  I  said  my  prayers 
very  fervently.  I  thought  I  would  try  and  get  to 
sleep,  but  sleep  was  far  from  my  eyes. 

My  surroundings  were  too  vivid  to  my  appre- 
hension. The  awful  traditions  of  the  place,  do  what 
I  might  to  banish  them,  would  come  to  mind.  The 
original  building  of  the  house,  and  its  blood-stained 
foundation  stones ;  the  dead  who  had  died  of  the  pes- 
tilence that  had  raged  afterwards;  the  bodies  carted 
by  scores  and  buried  in  the  sobby  earth  of  the  grave- 
yard, the  trees  of  which  loomed  up  through  the 
broken  window ;  the  dreadful  story  of  the  dead  pad- 
dling about  the  swamp  in  their  coffins ;  and,  above  all, 
the  gigantic  maniac  whose  ferocity  even  murder  could 
not  satiate,  and  who  had  added  to  murder  awful 
mutilation :  he  had  dragged  the  mangled  corpse  of  his 
victim  up  those  very  steps  and  flung  it  out  of  the  very 
window  which  gaped  just  beyond  me  in  the  glare  of 
the  lightning.  It  all  passed  through  my  mind  as  I 
sat  there  in  the  dark,  and  no  effort  of  my  will  could 
keep  my  thoughts  from  dwelling  on  it.  The  terrific 
thunder,  outcrashing  a  thousand  batteries,  the  roar  of 


220  "  No  Maid  Pawn  " 


the  hurricane  at  times  engrossed  my  attention ;  but  it 
always  reverted  to  that  scene  of  horror ;  and  if  I  dozed 
the  slamming  of  the  loose  blinds,  or  the  terrific  fury  of 
the  storm,  would  suddenly  startle  me.  Once,  as  the 
sounds  subsided  for  a  moment,  or  else  as  I,  having 
become  familiar  with  them,  was  sinking  into  a  sleepy 
state,  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall  creaked  and 
then  slammed  with  violence,  bringing  me  bolt  up- 
right on  the  bed,  clutching  my  gun.  I  could  have 
sworn  that  I  heard  footsteps  ;  but  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing a  hurricane,  and,  after  another  period  of  wakeful- 
ness  and  dreadful  recollection,  nature  succumbed,  and 
I  fell  asleep. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  can  be  said  to  have  lost  con- 
sciousness even  then,  for  my  mind  was  still  enchained 
by  the  horrors  of  my  situation,  and  went  on  clinging  to 
them  and  dwelling  upon  them  even  in  my  slumber. 

I  was,  however,  certainly  asleep ;  for  the  storm  must 
have  died  temporarily  away  about  this  hour  without 
my  knowing  it. 

I  must  have  slept  several  hours,  for  I  was  quite  stiff 
from  my  constrained  posture  when  I  became  fully 
aroused. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  very  peculiar  sound ;  it  was 
like  a  distant  halloo  or  yell.  Although  I  had  been 


No  Haid  Pawn''  221 


fast  asleep  a  moment  before,  it  startled  me  into  a  state 
of  the  highest  attention.  In  a  second  I  was  wide 
awake.  There  was  not  a  sound  except  the  rumble 
and  roll  of  the  thunder,  as  the  storm  once  more  began 
to  renew  itself,  and  in  the  segment  of  the  circle  that  I 
could  see  along  the  hall  through  my  door,  and,  in- 
deed, out  through  the  yawning  window  at  the  end,  as 
far  as  the  black  clump  of  trees  just  at  the  bend  of  the 
canal,  which  I  commanded  from  my  seat  whenever 
there  was  a  flash  of  lightning,  there  was  only  the 
swaying  of  the  bushes  in  the  swamp  and  of  the  trees 
in  the  graveyard.  Yet,  there  I  sat  bolt  upright  on 
my  bed,  in  the  darkness,  with  every  nerve  strained  to 
its  utmost  tension,  and  that  unearthly  cry  still  sound- 
ing in  my  ears.  I  was  endeavoring  to  reason  myself 
into  the  belief  that  I  had  dreamed  it,  when  a  flash  of 
lightning  lit  up  the  whole  field  of  my  vision  as  if  it 
had  been  in  the  focus  of  a  sun-glass,  and  out  on  the 
canal,  where  it  curved  around  the  graveyard,  was  a 
boat — a  something — small,  black,  with  square  ends, 
and  with  a  figure  in  it,  standing  upright,  and  some- 
thing lying  in  a  lump  or  mass  at  the  bow. 

I  knew  I  could  not  be  mistaken,  for  the  lightning, 
by  a  process  of  its  own,  photographs  everything  on 
the  retina  in  minutest  detail,  and  I  had  a  vivid  im- 


222  "No  Haid  Pawn" 


pression  of  everything  from  the  foot  of  the  bed,  on 
which  I  crouched,  to  the  gaunt  arms  of  those  black 
trees  in  the  graveyard  just  over  that  ghostly  boatman 
and  his  dreadful  freight.  I  was  wide  awake. 

The  story  of  the  dead  rowing  in  their  coffins  was 
verified. 

I  am  unable  to  state  what  passed  in  the  next  few 
minutes. 

The  storm  had  burst  again  with  renewed  violence 
and  was  once  more  expending  itself  on  the  house  ; 
the  thunder  was  again  rolling  overhead;  the  broken 
blinds  were  swinging  and  slamming  madly ;  and  the 
dreadful  memories  of  the  place  were  once  more  be- 
setting me. 

I  shifted  my  position  to  relieve  the  cramp  it  had  oc- 
casioned, still  keeping  my  face  toward  that  fatal  win- 
dow. As  I  did  so,  I  heard  above,  or  perhaps  I  should 
say  under,  the  storm  a  sound  more  terrible  to  me — the 
repetition  of  that  weird  cry  or  halloo,  this  time  almost 
under  the  great  window.  Immediately  succeeding 
this  was  the  sound  of  something  scraping  under  the 
wall,  and  I  was  sensible  when  a  door  on  the  ground- 
floor  was  struck  with  a  heavy  thump.  It  was  pitch- 
dark,  but  I  heard  the  door  pushed  wide  open,  and  as 
a  string  of  fierce  oaths,  part  English  and  part  Creole 


A  man  in  it,  standing  uprigJit,  ami  something  lying  in  a  lump 

at  the  bow. 


No  Haid  Pawn1'  223 


French,  floated  up  the  dark  stairway,  muffled  as  if 
sworn  through  clinched  teeth,  I  held  my  breath.  I 
recalled  the  unknown  tongue  the  murderer  employed ; 
and  I  knew  that  the  murderer  of  No  Haid  Pawn  had 
left  his  grave,  and  that  his  ghost  was  coming  up  that 
stair.  I  heard  his  step  as  it  fell  on  the  first  stair  heav- 
ily yet  almost  noiselessly.  It  was  an  unearthly  sound 
— dull,  like  the  tread  of  a  bared  foot,  accompanied  by 
the  scraping  sound  of  a  body  dragging.  Step  by  step 
he  came  up  the  black  stairway  in  the  pitch  darkness 
as  steadily  as  if  it  were  daytime  and  he  knew  every 
step,  accompanied  by  that  sickening  sound  of  drag- 
ging. There  was  a  final  pull  up  the  last  step,  and  a 
dull,  heavy  thud  which  jarred  the  house,  as  with 
a  strange,  wild  laugh,  he  flung  his  burden  on  the 
floor. 

For  a  moment  there  was  not  a  sound,  and  then  the 
awful  silence  and  blackness  were  broken  by  a  crash  of 
thunder  that  seemed  to  tear  the  foundations  asunder 
like  a  mighty  earthquake,  and  the  whole  house,  and 
the  great  swamp  outside  were  filled  with  a  glare  of 
vivid,  blinding  light.  Directly  in  front  of  me,  clutch- 
ing in  his  upraised  hand  a  long,  keen,  glittering  knife 
on  the  blade  of  which  a  ball  of  fire  seemed  to  play, 
stood  a  gigantic  figure  in  the  very  flame  of  the  light- 


224  "  No  Haid  Pawn  " 

ning,  and  stretched  at  his  feet  lay,  ghastly  and  bloody, 
a  black  and  headless  trunk. 

I  staggered  to  the  door  and,  tripping  over  the  sill, 
fell  prostrate  outside. 

******** 

I  have  never  been  able  to  give  a  description  of  the 
manner  in  which  I  escaped  from  the  fearful  spot. 

When  we  could  get  there,  nothing  was  left  but  the 
foundation.  The  haunted  house,  when  struck,  had 
literally  burned  to  the  water's  edge.  The  changed 
current  had  washed  its  way  close  to  the  place,  and  in 
strange  verification  of  the  negroes'  traditions,  No  Haid 
Pawn  had  reclaimed  its  own,  and  the  spot  with  all 
its  awful  secrets  lay  buried  under  its  dark  waters. 


POLLY 


POLLY 

A  Christmas  Recollection 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve.     I  remember  it  just  as  if  it 
was  yesterday.     The  Colonel  had  been  pretend- 
ing not  to  notice  it,  but  when  Drinkwater  Torm* 
knocked  over  both  the  great  candlesticks,  and  in  his 
attempt  to  pick  them  up  lurched  over  himself  and  fell 
sprawling  on  the  floor,  he  yelled  at  him.     Torm  pulled 
himself  together,  and  began  an  explanation,  in  which 
the  point  was  that  he  had  not  "  teched  a  drap  in  Gord 
knows  how  long,"  but  the  Colonel  cut  him  short. 

"Get  out  of  the  room,  you  drunken  vagabond!" 
he  roared. 

Torm  was  deeply  offended.     He  made  a  low,  grand 
bow,  and  with  as  much  dignity  as  his  unsteady  con- 

*  This  spelling  is  used  because  he  was  called  "  Torm"  until  it  became  his 
name. 


228  Polly 

dition  would  admit,  marched  very  statelily  from  the 
room,  and  passing  out  through  the  dining-room,  where 
he  stopped  to  abstract  only  one  more  drink  from  the 
long,  heavy,  cut-glass  decanter  on  the  sideboard,  me- 
andered to  his  house  in  the  back-yard,  where  he  pro- 
ceeded to  talk  religion  to  Charity,  his  wife,  as  he  always 
did  when  he  was  particularly  drunk.  He  was  expound- 
ing the  vision  of  the  golden  candlestick,  and  the  bowl 
and  seven  lamps  and  two  olive-trees,  when  he  fell 
asleep. 

The  roarer,  as  has  been  said,  was  the  Colonel;  the 
meanderer  was  Drinkwater  Torm.  The  Colonel  gave 
him  the  name,  "  because,"  he  said,  "  if  he  were  to  drink 
water  once  he  would  die." 

As  Drinkwater  closed  the  door,  the  Colonel  con- 
tinued, fiercely: 

"Damme,  Polly,  I  will!  I'll  sell  him  to-morrow 
morning;  and  if  I  can't  sell  him  I'll  give  him  away." 

Polly,  with  troubled  great  dark  eyes,  was  wheedling 
him  vigorously. 

"No;  I  tell  you,  I'll  sell  him. — 'Misery  in  his 
back!'  the  mischief!  he's  a  drunken,  trifling,  good- 
for-nothing  nigger!  and  I  have  sworn  to  sell  him  a 
thousand — yes,  ten  thousand  times;  and  now  I'll  have 
to  do  it  to  keep  my  word." 


"Drinkivater  Torm  fell  sprawling  on  the  floor." 


Polly  229 

This  was  true.  The  Colonel  swore  this  a  dozen 
times  a  day — every  time  Torm  got  drunk,  and  as  that 
had  occurred  very  frequently  for  many  years  before 
Polly  was  born,  he  was  not  outside  of  the  limit. 
Polly,  however,  was  the  only  one  this  threat  ever 
troubled.  The  Colonel  knew  he  could  no  more  have 
gotten  on  without  Torm  than  his  old  open-faced  watch, 
which  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  model  of  himself, 
could  have  run  without  the  mainspring.  From  tying 
his  shoes  and  getting  his  shaving-water  to  making  his 
juleps  and  lighting  his  candles,  which  was  all  he  had  to 
do,  Drinkwater  Torm  was  necessary  to  him.  (I  think 
he  used  to  make  the  threat  just  to  prove  to  himself  that 
Torm  did  not  own  him ;  if  so,  he  failed  in  his  purpose 
— Torm  did  own  him.)  Torm  knew  it  as  well  as  he, 
or  better;  and  while  Charity,  for  private  and  wifely 
reasons,  occasionally  held  the  threat  over  him  when 
his  expoundings  passed  even  her  endurance,  she  knew 
it  also. 

Thus,  Polly  was  the  only  one  it  deceived  or  fright- 
ened. It  always  deceived  her,  and  she  never  rested 
until  she  had  obtained  Term's  reprieve  "for  just  one 
more  time."  So  on  this  occasion,  before  she  got 
down  from  the  Colonel's  knees,  she  had  given  him 
in  bargain  "just  one  more  squeeze,"  and  received  in 


230  Polly 

return  Term's  conditional  pardon,  "only  till  next 
time." 

Everybody  in  the  county  knew  the  Colonel,  and 
everybody  knew  Drinkwater  Torm,  and  everybody 
who  had  been  to  the  Colonel's  for  several  years  past 
(and  that  was  nearly  everybody  in  the  county,  for  the 
Colonel  kept  open  house)  knew  Polly.  She  had  been 
placed  in  her  chair  by  the  Colonel's  side  at  the  club 
dinner  on  her  first  birthday  after  her  arrival,  and  had 
been  afterward  placed  on  the  table  and  allowed  to 
crawl  around  among  and  in  the  dishes  to  entertain  the 
gentlemen,  which  she  did  to  the  applause  of  every  one, 
and  of  herself  most  of  all ;  and  from  that  time  she  had 
exercised  in  her  kingdom  the  functions  of  both  Vashti 
and  Esther,  and  whatever  Polly  ordered  was  done.  If 
the  old  inlaid  piano  in  the  parlor  had  been  robbed  of 
strings,  it  was  all  right,  for  Polly  had  taken  them. 
Bob  had  cut  them  out  for  her,  without  a  word  of  pro- 
test from  anyone  but  Charity.  The  Colonel  would 
have  given  her  his  heartstrings  if  Polly  had  required 
them. 

She  had  owned  him  body  and  soul  from  the  second 
he  first  laid  eyes  on  her,  when,  on  the  instant  he  en- 
tered the  room,  she  had  stretched  out  her  little  chubby 
hands  to  him,  and  on  his  taking  her  had,  after  a  few 


Polly  231 

infantile  caresses,  curled  up  and,  with  her  finger  in  her 
mouth,  gone  to  sleep  in  his  arms  like  a  little  white 
kitten. 

Bob  used  to  wonder  in  a  vague,  boyish  way  where 
the  child  got  her  beauty,  for  the  Colonel  weighed  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  was  as  ugly  as  a  red 
head  and  thirty  or  forty  years  of  Term's  mint-juleps 
piled  on  a  somewhat  reckless  college  career  could 
make  him;  but  one  day,  when  the  Colonel  was  away 
from  home,  Charity  showed  him  a  daguerreotype  of  a 
lady,  which  she  got  out  of  the  top  drawer  of  the 
Colonel's  big  secretary  with  the  brass  lions  on  it,  and 
it  looked  exactly  like  Polly.  It  had  the  same  great 
big  dark  eyes  and  the  same  soft  white  look,  though 
Polly  was  stouter;  for  she  was  a  great  tomboy,  and 
used  to  run  wild  over  the  place  with  Bob,  climbing 
cherry-trees,  fishing  in  the  creek,  and  looking  as  bloom- 
ing as  a  rose,  with  her  hair  all  tangled  over  her 
pretty  head,  until  she  grew  quite  large,  and  the 
Colonel  got  her  a  tutor.  He  thought  of  sending  her 
to  a  boarding-school,  but  the  night  he  broached  the 
subject  he  raised  such  a  storm,  and  Polly  was  in  such 
a  tempest  of  tears,  that  he  gave  up  the  matter  at  once. 
It  was  well  he  did  so,  for  Polly  and  Charity  cried  all 
night  and  Torm  was  so  overcome  that  even  next 


232  Polly 

morning  he  could  not  bring  the  Colonel  his  shaving- 
water,  and  he  had  to  shave  with  cold  water  for  the 
first  time  in  twenty  years.  He  therefore  employed  a 
tutor.  Most  people  said  the  child  ought  to  have  had 
a  governess,  and  one  or  two  single  ladies  of  forgotten 
age  in  the  neighborhood  delicately  hinted  that  they 
would  gladly  teach  her;  but  the  Colonel  swore  that 
he  would  have  no  women  around  him,  and  he  would 
be  eternally  condemned  if  any  should  interfere  with 
Polly;  so  he  engaged  Mr.  Cranmer,  and  invited  Bob 
to  come  over  and  go  to  school  to  him  also,  which  he 
did;  for  his  mother,  who  had  up  to  that  time  taught 
him  herself,  was  very  poor,  and  was  unable  to  send 
him  to  school,  her  husband,  who  was  the  Colonel's 
fourth  cousin,  having  died  largely  indebted,  and  all 
of  his  property,  except  a  small  farm  adjoining  the 
Colonel's,  and  a  few  negroes,  having  gone  into  the 
General  Court. 

Bob  had  always  been  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Colonel,  and  ever  since  he  was  a  small  boy  he  had 
been  used  to  coming  over  and  staying  with  him. 

He  could  gaff  a  chicken  as  well  as  Drinkwater 
Torm,  which  was  a  great  accomplishment  in  the 
Colonel's  eyes;  for  he  had  the  best  game-chickens  in 
the  county,  and  used  to  fight  them,  too,  matching 


233 


them  against  those  of  one  or  two  of  his  neighbors  who 
were  similarly  inclined,  until  Polly  grew  up  and  made 
him  stop.  He  could  tame  a  colt  quicker  than  any- 
body on  the  plantation.  Moreover  he  could  shoot 
more  partridges  in  a  day  than  the  Colonel,  and  could 
beat  him  shooting  with  a  pistol  as  well,  though  the 
Colonel  laid  the  fault  of  the  former  on  his  being  so  fat, 
and  that  of  the  latter  on  his  spectacles.  They  used  to 
practice  with  the  Colonel's  old  pistols  that  hung  in 
their  holsters  over  the  tester  of  his  bed,  and  about 
which  Drinkwater  used  to  tell  so  many  lies;  for  al- 
though they  were  kept  loaded,  and  their  brass-mounted 
butts  peeping  out  of  their  leathern  covers  used  to  look 
ferocious  enough  to  give  some  apparent  ground  for 
Term's  story  of  how  "  he  and  the  Colonel  had  shot 
Judge  Cabell  spang  through  the  heart,"  the  Colonel 
always  said  that  Cabell  behaved  very  handsomely,  and 
that  the  matter  was  arranged  on  the  field  without  a 
shot.  Even  at  that  time  some  people  said  that  Bob's 
mother  was  trying  to  catch  the  Colonel,  and  that  if  the 
Colonel  did  not  look  out  she  would  yet  be  the  mis- 
tress of  his  big  plantation.  And  all  agreed  that  the 
boy  would  come  in  for  something  handsome  at  the 
Colonel's  death  ;  for  Bob  was  his  cousin  and  his  nearest 
male  relative,  if  Polly  was  his  niece,  and  he  would 


234  Polly 

hardly  leave  her  all  his  property,  especially  as  she  was 
so  much  like  her  mother,  with  whom,  as  everybody 
knew,  the  Colonel  had  been  desperately  in  love,  but 
who  had  treated  him  badly,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
big  plantation  and  many  negroes,  had  run  away  with 
his  younger  brother,  and  both  of  them  had  died  in  the 
South  of  yellow  fever,  leaving  of  all  their  children  only 
this  little  Polly;  and  the  Colonel  had  taken  Drink- 
water  and  Charity,  and  had  travelled  in  his  carriage  all 
the  way  to  Mississippi,  to  get  and  bring  Polly  back. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve  when  they  reached  home,  and 
the  Colonel  had  sent  Drinkwater  on  a  day  ahead  to 
have  the  fires  made  and  the  house  aired  for  the  baby; 
and  when  the  carriage  drove  up  that  night  you  would 
have  thought  a  queen  was  coming,  sure  enough. 

Every  hand  on  the  plantation  was  up  at  the  great 
house  waiting  for  them,  and  every  room  in  the  house 
had  a  fire  in  it.  (Torm  had  told  the  overseer  so  many 
lies  that  he  had  had  the  men  cutting  wood  all  day,  al- 
though the  regular  supply  was  already  cut.)  And 
when  Charity  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  with  the 
baby  all  bundled  up  in  her  arms,  making  a  great  show 
about  keeping  it  wrapped  up,  and  walked  up  the  steps 
as  slowly  as  if  it  were  made  of  gold,  you  could  have 
heard  a  pin  drop;  even  the  Colonel  fell  back,  and 


Polly  235 

spoke  in  a  whisper.  The  great  chamber  was  given 
up  to  the  baby,  the  Colonel  going  to  the  wing  room, 
where  he  always  stayed  after  that.  He  spoke  of  sit- 
ting up  all  night  to  watch  the  child,  but  Charity  as- 
sured him  that  she  was  not  going  to  take  her  eyes  off 
of  her  during  the  night,  and  with  a  promise  to  come  in 
every  hour  and  look  after  them,  the  Colonel  went  to 
his  room,  where  he  snored  until  nine  o'clock  the  next 
morning. 

But  I  was  telling  what  people  said  about  Bob's 
mother. 

When  the  report  reached  the  Colonel  about  the 
widow's  designs,  he  took  Polly  on  his  knees  and  told 
her  all  about  it,  and  then  both  laughed  until  the  tears 
ran  down  the  Colonel's  face  and  dropped  on  his  big 
flowered  vest  and  on  Polly's  little  blue  frock ;  and  he 
sent  the  widow  next  day  a  fine  short-horned  heifer  to 
show  his  contempt  of  the  gossip. 

And  now  Bob  was  the  better  shot  of  the  two ;  and 
they  taught  Polly  to  shoot  also,  and  to  load  and  unload 
the  pistols,  at  which  the  Colonel  was  as  proud  as  if  one 
of  his  young  stags  had  whipped  an  old  rooster. 

But  they  never  could  induce  her  to  shoot  at  any- 
thing except  a  mark.  She  was  the  tenderest-hearted 
little  thing  in  the  world. 


236  Polly 

If  her  taste  had  been  consulted  she  would  have  se- 
lected a  crossbow,  for  it  did  not  make  such  a  noise, 
and  she  could  shoot  it  without  shutting  her  eyes ;  be- 
sides that,  she  could  shoot  it  in  the  house,  which,  in- 
deed, she  did,  until  she  had  shot  the  eyes  out  of  nearly 
all  the  bewigged  gentlemen  and  bare-necked,  long- 
fingered  ladies  on  the  walls.  Once  she  came  very  near 
shooting  Term's  eye  out  also ;  but  this  was  an  accident, 
though  Drinkwater  declared  it  was  not,  and  tried  to 
make  out  that  Bob  had  put  her  up  to  it.  "Dat's 
de  mischievouses'  boy  Gord  uver  made,"  he  said,  com- 
plainingly,  to  Charity.  Fortunately,  his  eye  got  well, 
and  it  gave  him  an  excuse  for  staying  half  drunk  for 
nearly  a  week ;  and  afterward,  like  a  dog  that  has  once 
been  lame  in  his  hind-leg,  whenever  he  saw  Polly,  and 
did  not  forget  it,  he  squinted  up  that  eye  and  tried  to 
look  miserable.  Polly  was  quite  a  large  girl  then,  and 
was  carrying  the  keys  (except  when  she  lost  them), 
though  she  could  not  have  been  more  than  twelve 
years  old ;  for  it  was  just  after  this  that  the  birthday 
came  when  the  Colonel  gave  her  her  first  real  silk 
dress.  It  was  blue  silk,  and  came  from  Richmond, 
and  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  the  proudest,  Polly, 
or  Charity,  or  Drinkwater,  or  the  Colonel.  Torm  got 
drunk  before  the  dinner  was  over,  "  drinking  de 


Polly  237 

healthsh  to  de  young  mistis  in  de  sky-blue  robes  what 
stands  befo'  de  throne,  you  know,"  he  explained  to 
Charity,  after  the  Colonel  had  ordered  him  from  the 
dining-room,  with  promises  of  prompt  sale  on  the 
morrow. 

Bob  was  there,  and  it  was  the  last  time  Polly  ever 
sucked  her  thumb.  She  had  almost  gotten  out  of  the 
habit  anyhow,  and  it  was  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness 
that  she  let  Bob  see  her  do  it.  He  was  a  great  tease, 
and  when  she  was  smaller  had  often  worried  her  about 
it  until  she  would  fly  at  him  and  try  to  bite  him  with 
her  little  white  teeth.  On  this  occasion,  however,  she 
stood  everything  until  he  said  that  about  a  girl  who 
wore  a  blue  silk  dress  sucking  her  thumb;  then  she 
boxed  his  jaws.  The  fire  flew  from  his  eyes,  but  hers 
were  even  more  sparkling.  He  paused  for  a  minute, 
and  then  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  vio- 
lently. She  never  sucked  her  thumb  after  that. 

This  happened  out  in  front  of  her  mammy's  house, 
within  which  Torm  was  delivering  a  powerful  exhor- 
tation on  temperance ;  and,  strange  to  say,  Charity  took 
Bob's  side,  while  Torm  espoused  Polly's,  and  afterward 
said  she  ought  to  have  "  tooken  a  stick  and  knocked 
Marse  Bob's  head  spang  off."  This,  fortunately,  Polly 
did  not  do  (and  when  Bob  went  to  the  university  after- 


238  Polly 

ward  he  was  said  to  have  the  best  head  in  his  class). 
She  just  turned  around  and  ran  into  the  house,  with 
her  face  very  red.  But  she  never  slapped  Bob  after 
that.  Not  long  after  this  he  went  off  to  college ;  for 
Mr.  Cranmer,  the  tutor,  said  he  already  knew  more 
than  most  college  graduates  did,  and  that  it  would  be 
a  shame  for  him  not  to  have  a  university  education. 
When  the  question  of  ways  and  means  was  mooted, 
the  Colonel,  who  was  always  ready  to  lend  money  if 
he  had  it,  and  to  borrow  it  if  he  did  not,  swore  he 
would  give  him  all  the  money  he  wanted ;  but,  to  his 
astonishment,  Bob  refused  to  accept  it,  and  although 
the  Colonel  abused  him  for  it,  and  asked  Polly  if  she 
did  not  think  he  was  a  fool  (which  Polly  did,  for  she 
was  always  ready  to  take  and  spend  all  the  money  he 
or  any  one  else  gave  her),  yet  he  did  not  like  him  the 
less  for  it,  and  he  finally  persuaded  Bob  to  take  it  as  a 
loan,  and  Bob  gave  him  his  bond. 

The  day  before  he  left  home  he  was  over  at  the 
Colonel's,  where  they  had  a  great  dinner  for  him,  and 
Polly  presided  in  her  newest  silk  dress  (she  had  three 
then) ;  and  when  Bob  said  good-by  she  slipped  some- 
thing into  his  hand,  and  ran  away  to  her  room,  and 
when  he  looked  at  it,  it  was  her  ten-dollar  gold  piece, 
and  he  took  it. 


Polly  239 

He  was  at  college  not  quite  three  years,  for  his 
mother  was  taken  sick,  and  he  had  to  come  home  and 
nurse  her ;  but  he  had  stood  first  in  most  of  his  classes, 
and  not  lower  than  third  in  any;  and  he  had  thrashed 
the  carpenter  on  Vinegar  Hill,  who  was  the  bully  of 
the  town.  So  that  although  he  did  not  take  his  de- 
gree, he  had  gotten  the  start  which  enabled  him  to 
complete  his  studies  during  the  time  he  was  taking 
care  of  his  mother,  which  he  did  until  her  death,  so 
that  as  soon  as  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar  he  made  his 
mark.  It  was  his  splendid  defence  of  the  man  who 
shot  the  deputy-sheriff  at  the  court-house  on  election 
day  that  brought  him  out  as  the  Democratic  candidate 
for  the  Constitutional  Convention,  where  he  made  such 
a  reputation  as  a  speaker  that  the  "Enquirer  declared  him 
the  rising  man  of  the  State ;  and  even  the  Whig  ad- 
mitted that  perhaps  the  Loco-foco  party  might  find  a 
leader  to  redeem  it.  Polly  was  just  fifteen  when  she 
began  to  take  an  interest  in  politics ;  and  although  she 
read  the  papers  diligently,  especially  the  Enquirer^ 
which  her  uncle  never  failed  to  abuse,  yet  she  never 
could  exactly  satisfy  herself  which  side  was  right ;  for 
the  Colonel  was  a  stanch  Whig,  while  most  people 
must  have  been  Democrats,  as  Bob  was  elected  by  a 
big  majority.  She  wanted  to  be  on  the  Colonel's  side, 


240  Polly 

and  made  him  explain  everything  to  her,  which  he  did 
to  his  own  entire  satisfaction,  and  to  hers  too,  she  tried 
to  think ;  but  when  Bob  came  over  to  tea,  which  he 
very  frequently  did,  and  the  Colonel  and  he  got  into  a 
discussion,  her  uncle  always  seemed  to  her  to  get  the 
worst  of  the  argument ;  at  any  rate,  he  generally  got 
very  hot.  This,  however,  might  have  been  because 
Bob  was  so  cool,  while  the  Colonel  was  so  hot-tem- 
pered. 

Bob  had  grown  up  very  handsome.  His  mouth 
was  strong  and  firm,  and  his  eyes  were  splendid.  He 
was  about  six  feet,  and  his  shoulders  were  as  broad  as 
the  Colonel's.  She  did  not  see  him  now  as  often  as 
she  did  when  he  was  a  boy,  but  it  was  because  he  was 
kept  so  busy  by  his  practice.  (He  used  to  get  cases 
in  three  or  four  counties  now,  and  big  ones  at  that.) 
She  knew,  however,  that  she  was  just  as  good  a  friend 
of  his  as  ever ;  indeed,  she  took  the  trouble  to  tell  her- 
self so.  A  compliment  to  him  used  to  give  her  the 
greatest  happiness,  and  would  bring  deeper  roses  into 
her  cheeks.  He  was  the  greatest  favorite  with  every- 
body. Torm  thought  that  there  was  no  one  in  the 
world  like  him.  He  had  long  ago  forgiven  him  his 
many  pranks,  and  said  "he  was  the  grettest  gent'man 
in  the  county  skusin  him  [Torm]  and  the  Colonel," 


Polly  241 

and  that  "  he  al'ays  handled  heself  to  he  raisin',"  by 
which  Torm  made  indirect  reference  to  regular  dona- 
tions made  to  him  by  the  aforesaid  "  gent'man,"  and 
particularly  to  an  especially  large  benefaction  then 
lately  conferred.  It  happened  one  evening  at  the 
Colonel's,  after  dinner,  when  several  guests,  including 
Bob,  were  commenting  on  the  perfections  of  various 
ladies  who  were  visiting  in  the  neighborhood  that  sum- 
mer. The  praises  were,  to  Term's  mind,  somewhat 
too  liberally  bestowed,  and  he  had  attempted  to  con- 
sole himself  by  several  visits  to  the  pantry;  but  when 
all  the  list  was  disposed  of,  and  Polly's  name  had  not 
been  mentioned,  endurance  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  he  suddenly  broke  in  with  his  judgment  that  they 
"  didn't  none  on  'em  hoi'  a  candle  to  his  young  mistis, 
whar  wuz  de  ve'y  pink  an'  flow'r  on  'em  all." 

The  Colonel,  immensely  pleased,  ordered  him  out, 
with  a  promise  of  immediate  sale  on  the  morrow.  But 
that  evening,  as  he  got  on  his  horse,  Bob  slipped  into 
his  hand  a  five-dollar  gold  piece,  and  he  told  Polly 
that  if  the  Colonel  really  intended  to  sell  Torm,  just  to 
send  him  over  to  his  house ;  he  wanted  the  benefit  of 
his  judgment. 

Polly,  of  course,  did  not  understand  his  allusion, 
though  the  Colonel  had  told  her  of  Torm's  speech ;  but 


242  Polly 

Bob  had  a  rose  on  his  coat  when  he  came  out  of  the 
window,  and  the  long  pin  in  Polly's  bodice  was  not 
fastened  very  securely,  for  it  slipped,  and  she  lost  all 
her  other  roses,  and  he  had  to  stoop  and  pick  them  up 
for  her.  Perhaps,  though,  Bob  was  simply  referring  to 
his  having  saved  some  money,  for  shortly  afterward  he 
came  over  one  morning,  and,  to  the  Colonel's  disgust, 
paid  him  down  in  full  the  amount  of  his  bond.  He 
attempted  a  somewhat  formal  speech  of  thanks,  but 
broke  down  in  it  so  lamentably  that  two  juleps  were 
ordered  out  by  the  Colonel  to  reinstate  easy  relations 
between  them — an  effect  which  apparently  was  not 
immediately  produced — and  the  Colonel  confided  to 
Polly  next  day  that  since  the  fellow  had  been  taken 
up  so  by  those  Loco-focos  he  was  not  altogether  as  he 
used  to  be. 

"  Why,  he  don't  even  drink  his  juleps  clear,"  the  old 
man  asserted,  as  if  he  were  charging  him  with,  at  the 
least,  misprision  of  treason.  "  However,"  he  added, 
softening  as  the  excuse  presented  itself  to  his  mind, 
"  that  may  be  because  his  mother  was  always  so  op- 
posed to  it.  You  know  mint  never  would  grow  there," 
he  pursued  to  Polly,  who  had  heard  him  make  the 
same  observation,  with  the  same  astonishment,  a  hun- 
dred times.  "  Strangest  thing  I  ever  knew.  But  he's 


Polly  243 

a  confoundedly  clever  fellow,  though,  Polly,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  sudden  reviving  of  the  old-time  affection. 
"  Damme  !  I  like  him."  And,  as  Polly's  face  turned 
a  sweet  carmine,  added :  "  Oh,  I  forgot,  Polly ;  didn't 
mean  to  swear;  damme!  if  I  did.  It  just  slipped  out 
Now  I  haven't  sworn  before  for  a  week;  you  know  I 
haven't;  yes,  of  course,  I  mean  except  then."  For 
Polly,  with  softly  fading  color,  was  reading  him  the 
severest  of  lectures  on  his  besetting  sin,  and  citing  an 
ebullition  over  Term's  failing  of  the  day  before. 
"  Come  and  sit  down  on  your  uncle's  knee  and  kiss 
him  once  as  a  token  of  forgiveness.  Just  one  more 
squeeze,"  as  the  fair  girlish  arms  were  twined  about  his 
neck,  and  the  sweetest  of  faces  was  pressed  against  his 
own  rough  cheek.  "  Polly,  do  you  remember,"  asked 
the  old  man,  holding  her  off  from  him  and  gazing  at 
the  girlish  face  fondly — "  do  you  remember  how,  when 
you  were  a  little  scrap,  you  used  to  climb  up  on  my 
knee  and  squeeze  me,  *  just  once  more,'  to  save  that 
rascal  Drinkwater,  and  how  you  used  to  say  you  were 
*  going  to  marry  Bob '  and  me  when  you  were  grown 
up?" 

Polly's  memory,  apparently,  was  not  very  good. 
That  evening,  however,  it  seemed  much  better,  when, 
dressed  all  in  soft  white,  and  with  cheeks  reflecting 


244 


the  faint  tints  of  the  sunset  clouds,  she  was  strolling 
through  the  old  flower-garden  with  a  tall  young  fellow 
whose  hat  sat  on  his  head  with  a  jaunty  air,  and  who 
was  so  very  careful  to  hold  aside  the  long  branches  of 
the  rose-bushes.  They  had  somehow  gotten  to  re- 
calling each  in  turn  some  incident  of  the  old  boy-and- 
girl  days.  Bob  knew  the  main  facts  as  well  as  she, 
but  Polly  remembered  the  little  details  and  circum- 
stances of  each  incident  best,  except  those  about  the 
time  they  were  playing  "  knucks  "  together.  Then, 
singularly,  Bob  recollected  most.  He  was  positive 
that  when  she  cried  because  he  shot  so  hard,  he  had 
kissed  her  to  make  it  well.  Curiously,  Polly's  recol- 
lection failed  again,  and  was  only  distinct  about  very 
modern  matters.  She  remembered  with  remarkable 
suddenness  that  it  was  tea-time. 

They  were  away  down  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
and  her  lapse  of  memory  had  a  singular  effect  on 
Bob  ;  for  he  turned  quite  pale,  and  insisted  that  she 
did  remember  it  ;  and  then  said  something  about  hav- 
ing wanted  to  see  the  Colonel,  and  having  waited, 
and  did  so  strangely  that  if  that  rose-bush  had  not 
caught  her  dress,  he  might  have  done  something  else. 
But  the  rose-bush  caught  her  dress,  and  Polly,  who 
looked  really  scared  at  it  or  at  something,  ran  away 


Polly  245 

just  as  the  Colonel's  voice  was  heard  calling  them  to 
tea. 

Bob  was  very  silent  at  the  table,  and  when  he  left, 
the  Colonel  was  quite  anxious  about  him.  He  asked 
Polly  if  she  had  not  noticed  his  depression.  Polly 
had  not. 

"That's  just  the  way  with  you  women,"  said  the 
Colonel,  testily.  "  A  man  might  die  under  your  very- 
eyes,  and  you  would  not  notice  it.  7  noticed  it,  and  I 
tell  you  the  fellow's  sick.  I  say  he's  sick ! "  he  re- 
iterated, with  a  little  habit  he  had  acquired  since  he 
had  begun  to  grow  slightly  deaf.  "  I  shall  advise  him 
to  go  away  and  have  a  little  fling  somewhere.  He 
works  too  hard,  sticks  too  close  at  home.  He  never 
goes  anywhere  except  here,  and  he  don't  come  here  as 
he  used  to  do.  He  ought  to  get  married.  Advise 
him  to  get  married.  Why  don't  he  set  up  to  Sally 
Brent  or  Malviny  Pegram  *?  He's  a  likely  fellow,  and 
they'd  both  take  him — fools  if  they  didn't ; — I  say  they 
are  fools  if  they  didn't.  What  say  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  anything,"  said  Polly,  quietly  going  to 
the  piano. 

Her  music  often  soothed  the  Colonel  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  but  one  Bob  rode  over,  and  in- 
stead of  hooking  his  horse  to  the  fence  as  he  usually 


246  Polly 

did,  he  rode  on  around  toward  the  stables.  He  greeted 
Torm,  who  was  in  the  backyard,  and  after  extracting 
some  preliminary  observations  from  him  respecting  the 
"  misery  in  his  back,"  he  elicited  the  further  facts  that 
Miss  Polly  was  going  down  the  road  to  dine  at  the 
Pegrams',  of  which  he  had  some  intimation  before,  and 
that  the  Colonel  was  down  on  the  river  farm,  but  would 
be  back  about  two  o'clock.  He  rode  on. 

At  two  o'clock  promptly  Bob  returned.  The 
Colonel  had  not  yet  gotten  home.  He,  however,  dis- 
mounted, and,  tying  his  horse,  went  in.  He  must 
have  been  tired  of  sitting  down,  for  he  now  walked  up 
and  down  the  portico  without  once  taking  a  seat. 

"Marse  Bob  '11  walk  heself  to  death,"  observed 
Charity  to  Torm,  from  her  door. 

Presently  the  Colonel  came  in,  bluff,  warm,  and 
hearty.  He  ordered  dinner  from  the  front  gate  as  he 
dismounted,  and  juleps  from  the  middle  of  the  walk, 
greeted  Bob  with  a  cheeriness  which  that  gentleman  in 
vain  tried  to  imitate,  and  was  plumped  down  in  his 
great  split-bottomed  chair,  wiping  his  red  head  with 
his  still  redder  bandana  handkerchief,  and  abusing  the 
weather,  the  crops,  the  newspapers,  and  his  overseer 
before  Bob  could  get  breath  to  make  a  single  remark. 
When  he  did,  he  pitched  in  on  the  weather. 


Polly  247 

That  is  a  safe  topic  at  all  times.  It  was  astonishing 
how  much  comfort  Bob  got  out  of  it  this  afternoon. 
He  talked  about  it  until  dinner  began  to  come  in 
across  the  yard,  the  blue  china  dishes  gleaming  in  the 
hands  of  Phoebe  and  her  numerous  corps  of  ebon  and 
mahogany  assistants,  and  Torm  brought  out  the  juleps, 
with  the  mint  looking  as  if  it  were  growing  in  the 
great  silver  cans,  with  frosted  work  all  over  the  sides. 

Dinner  was  rather  a  failure,  so  far  as  Bob  was  con- 
cerned. Perhaps  he  missed  something  that  usually 
graced  the  table;  perhaps  only  his  body  was  there, 
while  he  himself  was  down  at  Miss  Malviny  Pegram's ; 
perhaps  he  had  gone  back  and  was  unfastening  an  im- 
pertinent rose-bush  from  a  filmy  white  dress  in  the 
summer  twilight ;  perhaps — ;  but  anyhow  he  was  so 
silent  and  abstracted  that  the  Colonel  rallied  him  good- 
humoredly,  which  did  not  help  matters. 

They  had  adjourned  to  the  porch,  and  had  been 
there  for  some  time,  when  Bob  broached  the  subject  of 
his  visit. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  suddenly,  and  wholly  irrelevant 
to  everything  that  had  gone  before,  "  there  is  a  matter 
I  want  to  speak  to  you  about — a — ah — we — a  little 
matter  of  great  importance  to — ah — myself."  He  was 
getting  very  red  and  confused,  and  the  Colonel  in- 


248  Polly 

stantly  divining  the  matter,  and  secretly  flattering  him- 
self, and  determining  to  crow  over  Polly,  said,  to  help 
him  out : 

"Aha,  you  rogue,  I  knew  it.  Come  up  to  the 
scratch,  sir.  So  you  are  caught  at  last.  Ah,  you  sly 
fox !  It's  the  very  thing  you  ought  to  do.  Why,  I 
know  half  a  dozen  girls  who'd  jump  at  you.  I  knew 
it.  I  said  so  the  other  night.  Polly — " 

Bob  was  utterly  off  his  feet  by  this  time.  "  I  want 
to  ask  your  consent  to  marry  Polly,"  he  blurted  out 
desperately ;  "  I  love  her." 

"  The  devil  you  do ! "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  He 
could  say  no  more ;  he  simply  sat  still,  in  speechless, 
helpless,  blank  amazement.  To  him  Polly  was  still  a 
little  girl  climbing  his  knees,  and  an  emperor  might 
not  aspire  to  her. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  said  Bob,  calm  enough  now — grow- 
ing cool  as  the  Colonel  became  excited.  "  I  love  her, 
and  I  want  her." 

'*  Well,  sir,  you  can't  have  her ! "  roared  the  Colonel, 
pulling  himself  up  from  his  seat  in  the  violence  of  his 
refusal.  He  looked  like  a  tawny  lion  whose  lair  had 
been  invaded. 

Bob's  face  paled,  and  a  look  came  on  it  that  the 
Colonel  recalled  afterward,  and  which  he  did  not  re- 


"  '/  will!'  he  said,  tin-owing  up  his  head." 


Polly  249 

member  ever  to  have  seen  on  it  before,  except  once, 
when,  years  ago,  some  one  shot  one  of  his  dogs — a 
look  made  up  of  anger  and  of  dogged  resolution.  "  I 
will ! "  he  said,  throwing  up  his  head  and  looking  the 
Colonel  straight  in  the  eyes,  his  voice  perfectly  calm, 
but  his  eyes  blazing,  the  mouth  drawn  close,  and  the 
lines  of  his  face  as  if  they  had  been  carved  in  granite. 

"  111  be if  you  shall !  "  stormed  the  Colonel  : 

"  the  King  of  England  should  not  have  her ! "  and, 
turning,  he  stamped  into  the  house  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  him. 

Bob  walked  slowly  down  the  steps  and  around  to 
the  stables,  where  he  ordered  his  horse.  He  rode  home 
across  the  fields  without  a  word,  except,  as  he  jumped 
his  horse  over  the  line  fence,  "  I  will  have  her,"  he  re- 
peated, between  his  fast-set  teeth. 

That  evening  Polly  came  home  all  unsuspecting 
anything  of  the  kind ;  the  Colonel  waited  until  she  had 
taken  off  her  things  and  come  down  in  her  fresh  muslin 
dress.  She  surpassed  in  loveliness  the  rose-buds  that 
lay  on  her  bosom,  and  the  impertinence  that  could 
dare  aspire  to  her  broke  over  the  old  man  in  a  fresh 
wave.  He  had  nursed  his  wrath  all  the  evening. 

"  Polly ! "  he  blurted  out,  suddenly  rising  with  a  jerk 
from  his  arm-chair,  and  unconsciously  striking  an  atti- 


250  Polly 

tude  before  the  astonished  girl,  "  do  you  want  to  marry 
Bob?" 

"  Why,  no,"  cried  Polly,  utterly  shaken  out  of  her 
composure  by  the  suddenness  and  vehemence  of  the 
attack. 

"I  knew  it!"  declared  the  Colonel,  triumphantly. 
"  It  was  a  piece  of  cursed  impertinence ! "  and  he 
worked  himself  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  fury,  and  grew 
so  red  in  the  face,  that  poor  Polly,  who  had  to  steer 
between  two  dangers,  was  compelled  to  employ  all  her 
arts  to  soothe  the  old  man  and  keep  him  out  of  a  fit  of 
apoplexy.  She  learned  the  truth,  however,  and  she 
learned  something  which,  until  that  time,  she  had  never 
known;  and  though,  as  she  kissed  her  uncle  "good- 
night," she  made  no  answer  to  his  final  shot  of,  "  Well, 
I'm  glad  we  are  not  going  to  have  any  nonsense  about 
the  fellow;  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  and  we'll  treat 
his  impudence  as  it  deserves,"  she  locked  her  door  care- 
fully when  she  was  within  her  own  room,  and  the  next 
morning  she  said  she  had  a  headache. 

Bob  did  not  come  that  day. 

If  the  Colonel  had  not  been  so  hot-headed — that  is, 
if  he  had  not  been  a  man — things  would  doubtless 
have  straightened  themselves  out  in  some  of  those 
mysterious  ways  in  which  the  hardest  knots  into  which 


Polly  251 

two  young  peoples'  affairs  contrive  to  get  untangle 
themselves ;  but  being  a  man,  he  must  needs,  man-like, 
undertake  to  manage  according  to  his  own  plan,  which 
is  always  the  wrong  one. 

When,  therefore,  he  announced  to  Polly  at  the 
breakfast-table  that  morning  that  she  would  have  no 
further  annoyance  from  that  fellow's  impertinence ;  for 
he  had  written  him  a  note  apologizing  for  leaving  him 
abruptly  in  his  own  house  the  day  before,  but  forbid- 
ding him,  in  both  their  names,  to  continue  his  ad- 
dresses, or,  indeed,  to  put  his  foot  on  the  place  again ; 
he  fully  expected  to  see  Polly's  face  brighten,  and  to 
receive  her  approbation  and  thanks.  What,  then,  was 
his  disappointment  to  see  her  face  grow  distinctly 
white.  All  she  said  was,  "  Oh,  uncle ! " 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  day  was  Sunday,  and 
that  the  Colonel  went  with  her  to  church  (which  she 
insisted  on  attending,  notwithstanding  her  headache), 
and  was  by  when  she  met  Bob.  They  came  on  each 
other  suddenly.  Bob  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  like 
a  soldier  on  review,  erect,  expectant,  and  a  little  pale. 
The  Colonel,  who  had  almost  forgotten  his  "  imperti- 
nence," and  was  about  to  shake  hands  with  him  as 
usual,  suddenly  remembered  it,  and  drawing  himself 
up,  stepped  to  the  other  side  of  Polly,  and  handed  her 


252  Polly 

by  the  younger  gentleman  as  if  he  were  protecting  her 
from  a  mob.  Polly,  who  had  been  looking  anxiously 
everywhere  but  in  the  right  place,  meaning  to  give  Bob 
a  smile  which  would  set  things  straight,  caught  his  eye 
only  at  that  second,  and  felt  rather  than  saw  the  change 
in  his  attitude  and  manner.  She  tried  to  throw  him 
the  smile,  but  it  died  in  her  eyes,  and  even  after  her 
back  was  turned  she  was  sensible  of  his  defiance.  She 
went  into  church,  and  dropped  down  on  her  knees  in 
the  far  end  of  her  pew,  with  her  little  heart  needing  all 
the  consolations  of  her  religion. 

The  man  she  prayed  hardest  for  did  not  come  into 
church  that  day. 

Things  went  very  badly  after  that,  and  the  knots  got 
tighter  and  tighter.  An  attempt  which  Bob  made  to 
loosen  them  failed  disastrously,  and  the  Colonel,  who 
was  the  best-hearted  man  in  the  world,  but  whose  prej- 
udices were  made  of  wrought  iron,  took  it  into  his 
head  that  Bob  had  insulted  him,  and  Polly's  indirect 
efforts  at  pacification  aroused  him  to  such  an  extent 
that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  almost  hard 
with  her.  He  conceived  the  absurd  idea  that  she 
was  sacrificing  herself  for  Bob  on  account  of  her 
friendship  for  him,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  pro- 
tect her  against  herself,  which,  man-like,  he  proceeded 


Polly  253 

to  do  in  his  own  fashion,  to  poor  Polly's  great  dis- 
tress. 

She  was  devoted  to  her  uncle,  and  knew  the  strength 
of  his  affection  for  her.  On  the  other  hand,  Bob  and 
she  had  been  friends  so  long.  She  never  could  re- 
member the  time  when  she  did  not  have  Bob.  But  he 
had  never  said  a  word  of  love  to  her  in  his  life.  To 
be  sure,  on  that  evening  in  the  garden  she  had  known 
it  just  as  well  as  if  he  had  fallen  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet.  She  knew  his  silence  was  just  because  he  had 
owed  her  uncle  the  money ;  and  oh !  if  she  just  hadn't 
gotten  frightened ;  and  oh !  if  her  uncle  just  hadn't 
done  it ;  and  oh !  she  was  so  unhappy !  The  poor 
little  thing,  in  her  own  dainty,  white-curtained  room, 
where  were  the  books  and  things  he  had  given  her,  and 
the  letters  he  had  written  her,  used  to — but  that  is  a 
secret.  Anyhow,  it  was  not  because  he  was  gone. 
She  knew  that  was  not  the  reason — indeed,  she  very 
often  said  so  to  herself;  it  was  because  he  had  been 
treated  so  unjustly,  and  suffered  so,  and  she  had  done 
it  all.  And  she  used  to  introduce  many  new  petitions 
into  her  prayers,  in  which,  if  there  was  not  any  name 
expressed,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  understood,  and  the 
blessings  would  reach  him  just  the  same. 

The  summer  had  gone,  and  the  Indian  summer  had 


254  Potty 

come  in  its  place,  hazy,  dreamy,  and  sad.  It  always 
made  Polly  melancholy,  and  this  year,  although  the 
weather  was  perfect,  she  was  affected,  she  said,  by  the 
heat,  and  did  not  go  out  of  doors  much.  So  presently 
her  cheeks  were  not  as  blooming  as  they  had  been,  and 
even  her  great  dark  eyes  lost  some  of  their  lustre ;  at 
least,  Charity  thought  so,  and  said  so  too,  not  only  to 
Polly,  but  to  her  master,  whom  she  scared  half  to  death ; 
and  who,  notwithstanding  that  Dr.  Stopper  was  coming 
over  every  other  day  to  see  a  patient  on  the  plantation, 
and  that  the  next  day  was  the  time  for  his  regular  visit, 
put  a  boy  on  a  horse  that  night  and  sent  him  with  a 
note  urging  him  to  come  the  next  morning  to  break- 
fast. 

The  doctor  came,  and  spent  the  day  :  examined 
Polly's  lungs  and  heart,  prescribed  out-door  exercise, 
and  left  something  less  than  a  bushel-basketful  of  medi- 
cines for  her  to  take. 

Polly  was,  at  the  time  of  his  visit,  in  a  very  excited 
state,  for  the  Colonel  had,  with  a  view  of  soothing  her, 
the  night  before  delivered  a  violent  philippic  against 
marriage  in  general,  and  in  particular  against  marriage 
with  "impudent  young  puppies  who  did  not  know 
their  places ; "  and  he  had  proposed  an  extensive  tour, 
embracing  all  the  United  States  and  Canada,  and  in- 


Polly  255 

tended  to  cover  the  entire  winter  and  spring  following. 
Polly,  who  had  stood  as  much  as  she  could  stand, 
finally  rebelled,  and  had  with  flashing  eyes  and  man- 
tling cheeks  espoused  Bob's  cause  with  a  courage  and 
dash  which  had  almost  routed  the  old  Colonel.  "  Not 
that  he  was  anything  to  her  except  a  friend,"  she  was 
most  careful  to  explain ;  but  she  was  tired  of  hearing 
her  "  friend  "  assailed,  and  she  thought  that  it  was  the 
highest  compliment  a  man  could  pay  a  woman,  etc., 
etc.,  for  all  of  which  she  did  a  great  deal  of  blushing 
in  her  own  room  afterwards. 

Thus  it  happened,  that  she  was  both  excited  and 
penitent  the  next  day,  and  thinking  to  make  some 
atonement,  and  at  the  same  time  to  take  the  prescribed 
exercise,  which  would  excuse  her  from  taking  the 
medicines,  she  filled  a  little  basket  with  goodies  to  take 
old  Aunt  Betty  at  the  Far  Quarters ;  and  thus  it  hap- 
pened, that,  as  she  was  coming  back  along  the  path 
which  ran  down  the  meadow  on  the  other  side  of  the 
creek  which  was  the  dividing  line  between  the  two 
plantations,  and  was  almost  at  the  foot-bridge  that 
Somebody  had  made  for  her  so  carefully  with  logs  cut 
out  of  his  own  woods,  and  the  long  shadows  of  the 
willows  made  it  gloomy,  and  everything  was  so  still 
that  she  had  grown  very  lonely  and  unhappy — thus  it 


256  Polly 

happened,  that  just  as  she  was  thinking  how  kind  he 
had  been  about  making  the  bridge  and  hand-rail  so 
strong,  and  about  everything,  and  how  cruel  he  must 
think  her,  and  how  she  would  never  see  him  any  more 
as  she  used  to  do,  she  turned  the  clump  of  willows  to 
step  up  on  the  log,  and  there  he  was  standing  on  the 
bridge  just  before  her,  looking  down  into  her  eyes ! 
She  tried  to  get  by  him — she  remembered  that  after- 
wards; but  he  was  so  mean.  It  was  always  a  little 
confused  in  her  memory,  and  she  could  never  recall 
exactly  how  it  was.  She  was  sure,  however,  that  it 
was  because  he  was  so  pale  that  she  said  it,  and  that 
she  did  not  begin  to  cry  until  afterwards,  and  that 
it  was  because  he  would  not  listen  to  her  explana- 
tion ;  and  that  she  didn't  let  him  do  it,  she  could  not 
help  it,  and  she  did  not  know  her  head  was  on  his 
shoulder. 

Anyhow,  when  she  got  home  that  evening  her  im- 
provement was  so  apparent  that  the  Colonel  called 
Charity  in  to  note  it,  and  declared  that  Virginia  coun- 
try doctors  were  the  finest  in  the  world,  and  that 
Stopper  was  the  greatest  doctor  in  the  State.  The 
change  was  wonderful,  indeed ;  and  the  old  gilt  mirror, 
with  its  gauze-covered  frame,  would  never  have  known 
for  the  sad-eyed  Polly  of  the  day  before  the  bright, 


"  There  he  was  standing  on  the  bridge  just  before  her." 


Polly  257 

happy  maiden  that  stood  before  it  now  and  smiled 
at  the  beaming  face  which  dimpled  at  its  own  con- 
tent. 

Old  Betty's  was  a  protracted  pleurisy,  and  the  good 
things  Polly  carried  her  daily  did  not  tend  to  shorten 
the  sickness.  Ever  afterwards  she  "  blessed  the  Lord 
for  dat  chile  "  whenever  Polly's  name  was  mentioned. 
She  would  doubtless  have  included  Bob  in  her  benison 
had  she  known  how  sympathetic  he  was  during  this 
period. 

But  although  he  was  inspecting  that  bridge  every 
afternoon  regularly,  notwithstanding  Polly's  oft-reit- 
erated wish  and  express  orders  as  regularly  declared,  no 
one  knew  a  word  of  all  this.  And  it  was  a  bow  drawn 
at  a  venture  when,  on  the  evening  that  Polly  had  tried 
to  carry  out  her  engagement  to  bring  her  uncle  around, 
the  old  man  had  said,  "  Why,  hoity-toity !  the  young 
rascal's  cause  seems  to  be  thriving."  She  had  been  so 
confident  of  her  success  that  she  was  not  prepared  for 
failure,  and  it  struck  her  like  a  fresh  blow ;  and  though 
she  did  not  cry  until  she  got  into  her  own  room,  when 
she  got  there  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed  and  cried 
herself  to  sleep.  "  It  was  so  cruel  in  him,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "to  desire  me  never  to  speak  to  him  again! 
And,  oh !  if  he  should  really  catch  him  on  the  place 


258  Polly 

and  shoot  him ! "  The  pronouns  in  our  language  were 
probably  invented  by  young  women. 

The  headache  Polly  had  the  next  morning  was  not 
invented.  Poor  little  thing !  her  last  hope  was  gone. 
She  determined  to  bid  Bob  good-by,  and  never  see 
him  again.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  this  on  her 
knees,  so  she  knew  she  was  right.  The  pain  it  cost 
her  satisfied  her  that  she  was. 

She  was  firmly  resolved  when  she  set  out  that  after- 
noon to  see  old  Betty,  who  was  in  everybody's  judg- 
ment except  her  own  quite  convalescent,  and  whom 
Dr.  Stopper  pronounced  entirely  well.  She  wavered  a 
little  in  her  resolution  when,  descending  the  path  along 
the  willows,  which  were  leafless  now,  she  caught  sight 
of  a  tall  figure  loitering  easily  up  the  meadow,  and  she 
abandoned — that  is,  she  forgot  it  altogether  when,  hav- 
ing doubtfully  suggested  it,  she  was  suddenly  enfolded 
in  a  pair  of  strong  arms,  and  two  gray  eyes,  lighting  a 
handsome  face  strong  with  the  self-confidence  which 
women  love,  looked  down  into  hers. 

Then  he  proposed  it ! 

Her  heart  almost  stood  still  at  his  boldness.  But  he 
was  so  strong,  so  firm,  so  reasonable,  so  self-reliant,  and 
yet  so  gentle,  she  could  not  but  listen  to  him.  Still 
she  refused — and  she  never  did  consent ;  she  forbade 


Polly  259 

him  ever  to  think  of  it  again.  Then  she  begged  him 
never  to  come  there  again,  and  told  him  of  her  uncle's 
threats,  and  of  her  fears  for  him ;  and  then,  when  he 
laughed  at  them,  she  begged  him  never,  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  to  take  any  notice  of  what  her  uncle 
might  do  or  say,  but  rather  to  stand  still  and  be  shot 
dead ;  and  then,  when  Bob  promised  this,  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  he  had  to  hold  her  and  comfort  her  like 
a  little  girl. 

It  was  pretty  bad  after  that,  and  but  for  Polly's  out- 
door exercise  she  would  undoubtedly  have  succumbed. 
It  seemed  as  if  something  had  come  between  her  and 
her  uncle.  She  no  longer  went  about  singing  like  a 
bird.  She  suffered  under  the  sense  of  being  misunder- 
stood, and  it  was  so  lonely !  He  too  was  oppressed 
by  it.  Even  Torm  shared  in  it,  and  his  expositions 
assumed  a  cast  terrific  in  the  last  degree. 

It  was  now  December. 

One  evening  it  culminated.  The  weather  had  been 
too  bad  for  Polly  to  go  out,  and  she  was  sick.  Finally 
Stopper  was  sent  for.  Polly,  who,  to  use  Charity's  ex- 
pression, was  "  pestered  till  she  was  fractious,"  rebelled 
flatly,  and  refused  to  keep  her  bed  or  to  take  the  medi- 
cines prescribed.  Charity  backed  her.  Torm  got 
drunk.  The  Colonel  was  in  a  fume,  and  declared  his 


260  Polly 

intention  to  sell  Torm  next  morning,  as  usual,  and  to 
take  Charity  and  Polly  and  go  to  Europe.  This  was 
well  enough;  but  to  Polly's  consternation,  when  she 
came  to  breakfast  next  morning,  she  found  that  the 
old  man's  plans  had  ripened  into  a  scheme  to  set  out 
on  the  very  next  day  for  Louisiana  and  New  Orleans, 
where  he  proposed  to  spend  the  winter  looking  after 
some  plantations  she  had,  and  showing  her  something 
of  the  world.  Polly  remonstrated,  rebelled,  cajoled. 
It  was  all  in  vain.  Stopper  had  seriously  frightened 
the  old  man  about  her  health,  and  he  was  adamant. 
Preparations  were  set  on  foot ;  the  brown  hair  trunks, 
with  their  lines  of  staring  brass  tacks,  were  raked  out 
and  dusted ;  the  Colonel  got  into  a  fever,  ordered  up  all 
the  negroes  in  the  yard,  and  gave  instructions  from  the 
front  door,  like  a  major-general  reviewing  his  troops; 
got  Torm,  Charity,  and  all  the  others  into  a  wild  flutter ; 
attempted  to  superintend  Polly's  matters;  made  her 
promises  of  fabulous  gifts;  became  reminiscent,  and 
told  marvelous  stories  of  his  old  days,  which  Torm 
corroborated ;  and  so  excited  Polly  and  the  plantation 
generally,  that  from  old  Betty,  who  came  from  the  Far 
Quarters  for  the  purpose  of  taking  it  in,  down  to  the 
blackest  little  dot  on  the  place,  there  was  not  one  who 
did  not  get  into  a  wild  whirl,  and  talk  as  if  they  were 


Polly  261 

all  going  to  New  Orleans  the  next  morning,  with  Joe 
Rattler  on  the  boot. 

Polly  had,  after  a  stout  resistance,  surrendered  to  her 
fate,  and  packed  her  modest  trunk  with  very  mingled 
feelings.  Under  other  circumstances  she  would  have 
enjoyed  the  trip  immensely ;  but  she  felt  now  as  if  it 
were  parting  from  Bob  forever.  Her  heart  was  in  her 
throat  all  day,  and  even  the  excitement  of  packing 
could  not  drive  away  the  feeling.  She  knew  she 
would  never  see  him  again.  She  tried  to  work  out 
what  the  end  would  be.  Would  he  die,  or  would  he 
marry  Malviny  Pegram  ?  Every  one  said  she  would 
just  suit  him,  and  she'd  certainly  marry  him  if  he 
asked  her. 

The  sun  was  shining  over  the  western  woods.  Bob 
rode  down  that  way  in  the  afternoon,  even  when  it 
was  raining ;  he  had  told  her  so.  He  would  think  it 
cruel  of  her  to  go  aVay  thus,  and  never  even  let  him 
know.  She  would  at  least  go  and  tell  him  good-by. 
So  she  did. 

Bob's  face  paled  suddenly  when  she  told  him  all, 
and  that  look  which  she  had  not  seen  often  before  set- 
tled on  it.  Then  he  took  her  hand  and  began  to  ex- 
plain everything  to  her.  He  told  her  that  he  had 
loved  her  all  her  life ;  showed  her  how  she  had  inspired 


262  Polly 

him  to  work  for  and  win  every  success  that  he  had 
achieved ;  how  it  had  been  her  work  even  more  than 
his.  Then  he  laid  before  her  the  life  plans  he  had 
formed,  and  proved  how  they  were  all  for  her,  and  for 
her  only.  He  made  it  all  so  clear,  and  his  voice  was 
so  confident,  and  his  face  so  earnest,  as  he  pleaded  and 
proved  it  step  by  step,  that  she  felt,  as  she  leaned 
against  him  and  he  clasped  her  closely,  that  he  was 
right,  and  that  she  could  not  part  from  him. 

That  evening  Polly  was  unusually  silent;  but  the 
Colonel  thought  she  had  never  been  so  sweet.  She 
petted  him  until  he  swore  that  no  man  on  earth  was 
worthy  of  her,  and  that  none  should  ever  have  her. 

After  tea  she  went  to  his  room  to  look  over  his 
clothes  (her  especial  work),  and  would  let  no  one,  not 
even  her  mammy,  help  her ;  and  when  the  Colonel  in- 
sisted on  coming  in  to  tell  her  some  more  concerning 
the  glories  of  New  Orleans  in  his  day,  she  finally  put 
him  out  and  locked  the  door  on  him. 

She  was  very  strange  all  the  evening.  As  they  were 
to  start  the  next  morning,  the  Colonel  was  for  retiring 
early ;  but  Polly  would  not  go ;  she  loitered  around, 
hung  about  the  old  fellow,  petted  him,  sat  on  his  knee 
and  kissed  him,  until  he  was  forced  to  insist  on  her 
going  to  bed.  Then  she  said  good-night,  and  as- 


'  The  young  man  found  it  necessary  to  lean  over  and 
throw  a  steadying  arm  around  her" 


Polly  263 

tonished  the  Colonel  by  throwing  herself  into  his  arms 
and  bursting  out  crying. 

The  old  man  soothed  her  with  caresses  and  baby 
talk,  such  as  he  used  to  comfort  her  with  when  she  was 
a  little  girl,  and  when  she  became  calm  he  handed  her 
to  her  door  as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess. 

The  house  was  soon  quiet,  except  that  once  the 
Colonel  heard  Polly  walking  in  her  room,  and  mentally 
determined  to  chide  her  for  sitting  up  so  late.  He, 
however,  drifted  off  from  the  subject  when  he  heard 
some  of  his  young  mules  galloping  around  the  yard, 
and  he  made  a  sleepy  resolve  to  sell  them  all,  or  to  dis- 
miss his  overseer  next  day  for  letting  them  out  of  the 
lot.  Before  he  had  quite  determined  which  he  should 
do,  he  dropped  off  to  sleep  again. 

It  was  possibly  about  this  time  that  a  young  man 
lifted  into  her  saddle  a  dark-habited  little  figure,  whose 
face  shone  very  white  in  the  starlight,  and  whose  trem- 
ulous voice  would  have  suggested  a  refusal  had  it  not 
been  drowned  in  the  deep,  earnest  tone  of  her  lover. 
Although  she  declared  that  she  could  not  think  of 
doing  it,  she  had  on  her  hat  and  furs  and  riding-habit 
when  Bob  came.  She  did,  indeed,  really  beg  him  to 
go  away ;  but  a  few  minutes  later  a  pair  of  horses  can- 
tered down  the  avenue  toward  the  lawn  gate,  which 


264  Polly 

shut  with  a  bang  that  so  frightened  the  little  lady  on 
the  bay  mare  that  the  young  man  found  it  necessary 
to  lean  over  and  throw  a  steadying  arm  around  her. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Polly  saw  the  sun  rise 
in  North  Carolina,  and  a  few  hours  later  a  gentle- 
voiced  young  clergyman,  whose  sweet-faced  wife  was 
wholly  carried  away  by  Polly's  beauty,  received  under 
protest  Bob's  only  gold  piece,  a  coin  which  he  twisted 
from  his  watch-chain  with  the  promise  to  quadruple  it 
if  he  would  preserve  it  until  he  could  redeem  it. 

When  Charity  told  the  Colonel  next  morning  that 
Polly  was  gone,  the  old  man  for  the  first  time  in  fifty 
years  turned  perfectly  white.  Then  he  fell  into  a  con- 
suming rage,  and  swore  until  Charity  would  not  have 
been  much  surprised  to  see  the  devil  appear  in  visible 
shape  and  claim  him  on  the  spot.  He  cursed  Bob, 
cursed  himself,  cursed  Torm,  Charity,  and  the  entire 
female  sex  individually  and  collectively,  and  then, 
seized  by  a  new  idea,  he  ordered  his  horse,  that  he 
might  pursue  the  runaways,  threatened  an  immediate 
sale  of  his  whole  plantation,  and  the  instantaneous 
death  of  Bob,  and  did  in  fact  get  down  his  great  brass- 
mounted  pistols,  and  lay  them  by  him  as  he  made 
Torm,  Charity,  and  a  half-dozen  younger  house-ser- 
vants dress  him. 


Polly  265 

Dressing  and  shaving  occupied  him  about  an  hour 
— he  always  averred  that  a  gentleman  could  not  dress 
like  a  gentleman  in  less  time — and,  still  breathing  out 
threatenings  and  slaughter,  he  marched  out  of  his  room, 
making  Torm  and  Charity  follow  him,  each  with  a 
pistol.  Something  prompted  him  to  stop  and  inspect 
them  in  the  hall.  Taking  first  one  and  then  the  other, 
he  examined  them  curiously. 

"  Well,  I'll  be ! "  he  said,  dryly,  and  flung  both 

of  them  crashing  through  the  window.  Turning,  he 
ordered  waffles  and  hoe-cakes  for  breakfast,  and  called 
for  the  books  to  have  prayers. 

Polly  had  utilized  the  knowledge  she  had  gained  as 
a  girl,  and  had  unloaded  both  pistols  the  night  before, 
and  rammed  the  balls  down  again  without  powder,  so 
as  to  render  them  harmless. 

By  breakfast  time  Torm  was  in  a  state  of  such 
advanced  intoxication  that  he  was  unable  to  walk 
through  the  back  yard  gate,  and  the  Colonel  was -forced 
to  content  himself  with  sending  by  Charity  a  message 
that  he  would  get  rid  of  him  early  the  next  morning. 
He  straitly  enjoined  Charity  to  tell  him,  and  she  as 
solemnly  promised  to  do  so.  "Yes,  suh,  7  gwi'  tell 
him,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint  tone  of  being  wounded 
at  his  distrust ;  and  she  did. 


266  Polly 

She  needed  an  outlet. 

Things  got  worse.  The  Colonel  called  up  the  over- 
seer and  gave  new  orders,  as  if  he  proposed  to  change 
everything.  He  forbade  any  mention  of  Polly's  name, 
and  vowed  that  he  would  send  for  Mr.  Steep,  his 
lawyer,  and  change  his  will  to  spite  all  creation.  This 
humor,  instead  of  wearing  off,  seemed  to  grow  worse 
as  the  time  stretched  on,  and  Torm  actually  grew  sober 
in  the  shadow  that  had  fallen  on  the  plantation.  The 
Colonel  had  Polly's  room  nailed  up  and  shut  himself 
up  in  the  house. 

The  negroes  discussed  the  condition  of  affairs  in 
awed  undertones,  and  watched  him  furtively  whenever 
he  passed.  Various  opinions  by  turns  prevailed.  Aunt 
Betty,  who  was  regarded  with  veneration,  owing  partly 
to  the  interest  the  lost  Polly  had  taken  in  her  illness,  and 
partly  to  her  great  age  (to  which  she  annually  added 
three  years)  prophesied  that  he  was  going  to  die  "  in 
torments,"  just  like  some  old  uncle  of  his  whom  no  one 
else  had  ever  heard  of  until  now,  but  who  was  raked 
up  by  her  to  serve  as  a  special  example.  The  chief  re- 
semblance seemed  to  be  a  certain  "  rankness  in  cussin'." 

Things  were  certainly  going  badly,  and  day  by  day 
they  grew  worse.  The  Colonel  became  more  and 
more  morose. 


"//<?  made  Torm,  Charity,  and  a  half-dozen  younger  house- 
servants  dress  him" 


Polly  267 

"He  don'  even  quoil  no  mo',"  Torm  complained 
pathetically  to  Charity.  "  He  jes  set  still  and  study. 
I  'feard  he  gwine  'stracted." 

It  was,  indeed,  lamentable.  It  was  accepted  on  the 
plantation  that  Miss  Polly  had  gone  for  good — some 
said  down  to  Louisiana — and  would  never  come  back 
any  more.  The  prevailing  impression  was  that,  if  she 
did,  the  Colonel  would  certainly  kill  Bob.  Torm  had 
not  a  doubt  of  it. 

Thus  matters  stood  three  days  before  Christmas. 
The  whole  plantation  was  plunged  in  gloom.  It 
would  be  the  first  time  since  Miss  Polly  was  a  baby 
that  they  had  not  had  "  a  big  Christmas." 

Torm's  lugubrious  countenance  one  morning  seemed 
to  shock  the  Colonel  out  of  his  lethargy.  He  asked 
how  many  days  there  would  be  before  Christmas,  and 
learning  that  there  were  but  three,  he  ordered  prepara- 
tions to  be  made  for  a  great  feast  and  a  big  time  gen- 
erally. He  had  the  wood-pile  replenished  as  usual, 
got  up  his  presents,  and  superintended  the  Christmas 
operations  himself,  as  Polly  used  to  do.  But  it  was 
sad  work,  and  when  Torm  and  Charity  retired  Christ- 
mas Eve  night,  although  Torm  had  imbibed  plenti- 
fully, and  the  tables  were  all  spread  for  the  great 
dinner  for  the  servants  next  day,  there  was  no  peace  in 


268  Polly 

Term's  discourse ;  it  was  all  of  wrath  and  judgment  to 
come. 

He  had  just  gone  to  sleep  when  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door. 

"Who  dat  out  dyah?"  called  Charity.  "You 
niggers  better  go  'long  to  bed." 

The  knock  was  repeated. 

"Who  dat  out  dyah,  I  say?"  queried  Charity, 
testily.  "Whyn't  you  go  'long  'way  from  dat  do"? 
Torm,  Torm,  dee's  somebody  at  de  do',"  she  said,  as 
the  knocking  was  renewed. 

Torm  was  hard  to  wake,  but  at  length  he  got  up 
and  moved  slowly  to  the  door,  grumbling  to  himself 
all  the  time. 

When  finally  he  undid  the  latch,  Charity,  who  was 
in  bed,  heard  him  exclaim,  "  Well,  name  o'  Gord ! 
good  Gord  A'mighty ! "  and  burst  into  a  wild  explo- 
sion of  laughter. 

In  a  second  she  too  was  outside  of  the  door,  and 
had  Polly  in  her  arms,  laughing,  jumping,  hugging, 
and  kissing  her  while  Torm  executed  a  series  of  cara- 
coles around  them. 

"  Whar  Marse  Bob  *?  "  asked  both  negroes,  finally, 
in  a  breath. 

"Hello,  Torm!     How  are  you,  Mam'  Charity?" 


Polly  269 

called  that  gentleman,  cheerily,  coming  up  from  where 
he  had  been  fastening  the  horses;  and  Charity,  sud- 
denly mindful  of  her  peculiar  appearance  and  of  the 
frosty  air,  "scuttled"  into  the  house,  conveying  her 
young  mistress  with  her. 

Presently  she  came  out  dressed,  and  invited  Bob  in 
too.  She  insisted  on  giving  them  something  to  eat; 
but  they  had  been  to  supper,  and  Polly  was  much  too 
excited  hearing  about  her  uncle  to  eat  anything.  She 
cried  a  little  at  Charity's  description  of  him,  which  she 
tried  to  keep  Bob  from  seeing,  but  he  saw  it,  and  had 
to — however,  when  they  got  ready  to  go  home,  Polly 
insisted  on  going  to  the  yard  and  up  on  the  porch,  and 
when  there,  she  actually  kissed  the  window-blind  of 
the  room  whence  issued  a  muffled  snore  suggestive  at 
least  of  some  degree  of  forgetfulness.  She  wanted  Bob 
to  kiss  it  too,  but  that  gentleman  apparently  found 
something  else  more  to  his  taste,  and  her  entreaty  was 
drowned  in  another  sound. 

Before  they  remounted  their  horses  Polly  carried 
Bob  to  the  greenhouse,  where  she  groped  around  in 
the  darkness  for  something,  to  Bob's  complete  mystifi- 
cation. "  Doesn't  it  smell  sweet  in  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  don't  smell  anything  but  that  mint  bed  you've 
been  walking  on,"  he  laughed. 


270  Polly 

As  they  rode  off,  leaving  Torm  and  Charity  stand- 
ing in  the  road,  the  last  thing  Polly  said  was,  "  Now 
be  sure  you  tell  him — nine  o'clock." 

"  Umm !  I  know  he  gwi'  sell  me  den  sho  'nough," 
said  Torm,  in  a  tone  of  conviction,  as  the  horses  can- 
tered away  in  the  frosty  night. 

Once  or  twice,  as  they  galloped  along,  Bob  made 
some  allusion  to  the  mint  bed  on  which  Polly  had 
stepped,  to  which  she  made  no  reply.  But  as  he 
helped  her  down  at  her  own  door,  he  asked,  "  What 
in  the  world  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  Mint,"  said  she,  with  a  little  low,  pleased  laugh. 

By  light  next  morning  it  was  known  all  over  the 
plantation  that  Miss  Polly  had  returned.  The  re- 
joicing, however,  was  clouded  by  the  fear  that  nothing 
would  come  of  it. 

In  Charity's  house  it  was  decided  that  Torm  should 
break  the  news.  Torm  was  doubtful  on  the  point  as 
the  time  drew  near,  but  Charity's  mind  never  wavered. 
Finally  he  went  in  with  his  master's  shaving-water, 
having  first  tried  to  establish  his  courage  by  sundry 
pulls  at  a  black  bottle.  He  essayed  three  times  to  de- 
liver the  message,  but  each  time  his  courage  failed,  and 
he  hastened  out  under  pretence  of  the  water  having  got- 
ten cold.  The  last  time  he  attracted  Charity's  attention. 


Polly  271 

"  Name  o'  Gord,  Torm,  you  gwine  to  scawl  hawgs  *?  " 
she  asked,  sarcastically. 

The  next  time  he  entered  the  Colonel  was  in  a 
fume  of  impatience,  so  he  had  to  fix  the  water.  He 
set  down  the  can,  and  bustled  about  with  hypocritical 
industry.  The  Colonel,  at  last,  was  almost  through; 
Torm  retreated  to  the  door.  As  his  master  finished, 
he  put  his  hand  on  the  knob,  and  turning  it,  said, 
"Miss  Polly  come  home  larse  night;  sh'  say  she 
breakfast  at  nine  o'clock." 

Slapbang!  came  the  shaving-can,  smashing  against 
the  door,  just  as  he  dodged  out,  and  the  roar  of  the 
Colonel  followed  him  across  the  hall. 

When  finally  their  master  appeared  on  the  portico, 
Torm  and  Charity  were  watching  in  some  doubt 
whether  he  would  not  carry  out  on  the  spot  his  long- 
threatened  purpose.  He  strode  up  and  down  the  long 
porch,  evidently  in  great  excitement. 

"  He's  tumble  dis  mornin',"  said  Torm ;  "  he  th'owed 
de  whole  kittle  o'  b'ilin'  water  at  me." 

"  Pity  he  didn'  scawl  you  to  death,"  said  his  wife, 
sympathizingly.  She  thought  Torm's  awkwardness 
had  destroyed  Polly's  last  chance.  Torm  resorted  to 
his  black  bottle,  and  proceeded  to  talk  about  the  lake 
of  brimstone  and  fire. 


272  Polly 

Up  and  down  the  portico  strode  the  old  Colonel 
His  horse  was  at  the  rack,  where  he  was  always 
brought  before  breakfast.  (For  twenty  years  he  had 
probably  never  missed  a  morning.)  Finally  he  walked 
down,  and  looked  at  the  saddle ;  of  course,  it  was  all 
wrong.  He  fixed  it,  and,  mounting,  rode  off  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  that  whence  his  invitation  had 
come.  Charity,  looking  out  of  her  door,  inserted  into 
her  diatribe  against  "all  wuthless,  drunken,  fool  nig- 
gers" a  pathetic  parenthesis  to  the  effect  that  "Ef 
Marster  meet  Marse  Bob  dis  mornin',  de  don'  be  a 
hide  nor  hyah  left  o'nyah  one  on  'em ;  an'  dat  lamb 
over  dyah  maybe  got  oystchers  waitin'  for  him  too." 

Torm  was  so  much  impressed  that  he  left  Charity 
and  went  out  of  doors. 

The  Colonel  rode  down  the  plantation,  his  great  gray 
horse  quivering  with  life  in  the  bright  winter  sunlight. 
He  gave  him  the  rein,  and  he  turned  down  a  cross- 
road which  led  out  of  the  plantation  into  the  main  high- 
way. Mechanically  he  opened  the  gate  and  rode  out. 
Before  he  knew  where  he  was  he  was  through  the 
wood,  and  his  horse  had  stopped  at  the  next  gate. 
It  was  the  gate  of  Bob's  place.  The  house  stood  out 
bright  and  plain  among  the  yard  trees;  lines  of  blue 
smoke  curled  up  almost  straight  from  the  chimneys; 


273 


and  he  could  see  two  or  three  negroes  running  back- 
ward and  forward  between  the  kitchen  and  the  house. 
The  sunlight  glistened  on  something  in  the  hand  of 
one  of  them,  and  sent  a  ray  of  dazzling  light  all  the 
way  to  the  old  man.  He  knew  it  was  a  plate  or  a 
dish.  He  took  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it;  it 
was  five  minutes  to  nine  o'clock.  He  started  to  turn 
around  to  go  home.  As  he  did  so,  the  memory  of  all 
the  past  swept  over  him,  and  of  the  wrong  that  had 
been  done  him.  He  would  go  in  and  show  them  his 
contempt  for  them  by  riding  in  and  straight  out  again  ; 
and  he  actually  unlatched  the  gate  and  went  in.  As 
he  rode  across  the  field  he  recalled  all  that  Polly  had 
been  to  him  from  the  time  when  she  had  first  stretched 
out  her  arms  to  him  ;  all  the  little  ways  by  which  she 
had  brought  back  his  youth,  and  had  made  his  house 
home,  and  his  heart  soft  again.  Every  scene  came  be- 
fore him  as  if  to  mock  him.  He  felt  once  more  the 
touch  of  her  little  hand  ;  heard  again  the  sound  of  her 
voice  as  it  used  to  ring  through  the  old  house  and 
about  the  grounds  ;  saw  her  and  Bob  as  children  romp- 
ing about  his  feet,  and  he  gave  a  great  gulp  as  he 
thought  how  desolate  the  house  was  now.  He  sat  up 
in  his  saddle  stiffer  than  ever.  D  -  him  !  he  would 
enter  his  very  house,  and  there  to  his  face  and  hers 


274  Polly 

denounce  him  for  his  baseness ;  he  pushed  his  horse  to 
a  trot.  Up  to  the  yard  gate  he  rode,  and,  dismount- 
ing, hitched  his  horse  to  the  fence,  and  slamming  the 
gate  fiercely  behind  him,  stalked  up  the  walk  with 
his  heavy  whip  clutched  fast  in  his  hand.  Up  the 
walk  and  up  the  steps,  without  a  pause,  his  face 
set  as  grim  as  rock,  and  purple  with  suppressed  emo- 
tion; for  a  deluge  of  memories  was  overwhelming 
him. 

The  door  was  shut ;  they  had  locked  it  on  him ;  but 
he  would  burst  it  in,  and — Ah !  what  was  that  ? 

The  door  flew  suddenly  open ;  there  was  a  cry,  a 
spring,  a  vision  of  something  swam  before  his  eyes,  and 
two  arms  were  clasped  about  his  neck,  while  he  was 
being  smothered  with  kisses  from  the  sweetest  mouth 
in  the  world,  and  a  face  made  up  of  light  and  laughter, 
yet  tearful,  too,  like  a  dew-bathed  flower,  was  pressed 
to  his,  and  before  the  Colonel  knew  it  he  had,  amid 
laughter  and  sobs  and  caresses,  been  borne  into  the 
house,  and  pressed  down  at  the  daintiest  little  break- 
fast-table eyes  ever  saw,  set  for  three  persons,  and 
loaded  with  steaming  dishes,  and  with  a  great  fresh 
julep  by  the  side  of  his  plate,  and  Torm  standing 
behind  his  chair,  whilst  Bob  was  helping  him  to 
"oystchers,"  and  Polly,  with  dimpling  face,  was  at- 


Polty  275 

tempting  the  exploit  of  pouring  out  his  coffee  without 
moving  her  arm  from  around  his  neck. 

The  first  thing  he  said  after  he  recovered  his  breath 
was,  "  Where  did  you  get  this  mint  ?  " 

Polly  broke  into  a  peal  of  rippling,  delicious 
laughter,  and  tightened  the  arm  about  his  neck. 

"  Just  one  more  squeeze,"  said  the  Colonel ;  and  as 
she  gave  it  he  said,  with  the  light  of  it  all  breaking  on 
him,  "  Damme  if  I  don't  sell  you !  or,  if  I  can't  sell 
you,  I'll  give  you  away — that  is,  if  he'll  come  over 
and  live  with  us." 

That  evening,  after  the  great  dinner,  at  which  Polly 
had  sat  in  her  old  place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
Bob  at  the  foot,  because  the  Colonel  insisted  on  sitting 
where  Polly  could  give  him  one  more  squeeze,  the 
whole  plantation  was  ablaze  with  "Christmas,"  and 
Drinkwater  Torm,  steadying  himself  against  the  side- 
board, delivered  a  discourse  on  peace  on  earth  and 
good-will  to  men  so  powerful  and  so  eloquent  that  the 
Colonel,  delighted,  rose  and  drank  his  health,  and  said, 
"  Damme  if  I  ever  sell  him  again ! " 


DATE  DUE 


mt 


usiu 


JIU  NUv 


1*1977 


001267566   6 


